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HORACE   WALPOLE 

AND  HIS  WORLD 

SELECT  PASSAGES  FROM  HIS  LETTERS 

F.DITEl)    KY 

L.   13.  SEELEY,   M.A. 

Lale  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cajidiriili^e 


WITH  EIGHT  ILLUSTRATIONS  AFTER 

Sir  fosHUA  Reynolds]and  Sir  Thomas  Lawrf.nck 


THIRD   EDITION 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

743745   BROADWAY 


mn--  '  ^     '/FORNIA 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Introduction  —  Birth  and  Parentage  —  Education  —  Appoint- 
ments —  Travels  —  Parliamentary  Career  —  Retirement  — 
Fortune  —  Strawberry  Hill — Collections — Writings — Print- 
ing Press — Accession  to  Title— Death — Character — Poli- 
tical Conduct  and  Opinions — The  Slave  Trade — Strikes — 
Views  of  Literature — Friendships — Charities — Chatterton — 
Letters I 

CHAPTER  IL 

Country  Life— Ranelagh  Gardens — The  Rebel  Lords — The 
Earthquake — A  FroHc  at  Vauxhall — Capture  of  a  House- 
breaker— Strawberry  Hill — The  Beautiful  Gunnings — Sterne     ;i3 

CHAPTER  in. 

A  new  Reign — Funeral  of  the  late  King — Houghton  revisited 
— Election  at  Lynn — Marriage  of  George  III. — His  Coro- 
nation     62 

CHAPTER  IV. 

General  Taste  for  Pleasure—  Entertainments  at  Twickenham 
and  Esher— Miss  Chudleigh's  Ball — Masquerade  at  Rich- 
mond House — The  Gallery  at  Strawberry  Hill — Balls — The 
Duchess  of  Queensberry — Petition  of  the  Periwig-makers — 
Ladies'  Head-gear — Almack's — "The  Castle  of  Otranto" — 
Plans  for  a  Bower — A  late  Dinner — Walpole's  Idle  Life- 
Social  Usages 7'^ 


vl  Contents, 

CHAPTER  V. 

PAGE 

The  Gout— Visits  to  Paris  — Bath  — John  Wesley— Bad 
Weather  —  English  Summers  —  Quitting  Parliament — 
Madame  du  Deffand — Human  Vanity — The  Banks  of  the 
Thames — A  Subscription  Masquerade— Extravagance  of  the 
Aj;e — The  Pantheon — Visiting  Stowe  with  Princess  Amelia 
— George  Montagu — The  Countess  of  Ossory — Powder- 
Mills  Blown  up  at  Hounslow — Distractions  of  Business  and 
Pleasure 99 

CHAPTER  Vr. 

Lorl  Nuncham — Madame  de  Sevigne — Charles  Fox — Mrs. 
Clive  and  Cliveden — Goldsmith  and  Garrick — Dearth  of 
News — Madame  de  Trop — A  Bunch  of  Grapes — General 
Election — Perils  by  Land  and  Water — Sir  Horace  Mann — 
Lord  Clive — The  History  of  ^L^nners — A  Traveller  from 
Lima — The  Scavoir  Vivre  Club — Reflections  on  Life — The 
Pretender's  Happiness — Paris  Fashions — Madame  du  Def- 
fand ill  —  Growth  of  London  —  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds — 
Change  in  Manners — Our  Climate 124 

CHAPTER  VI L 

The  American  War — Irish  Discontent — Want  of  Money — The 
Houghton  Px'.ures  sold — Removal  to  Berkeley  Square — Ill- 
health — A  Painting  by  Zoffani — The  Rage  for  News — 
The  Duke  of  Gloucester — Wilkes — Fashions,  Old  and  New — 
Mackerel  News — Pretty  Stories — Madame  de  S^vigne's 
Cabinet — Picture  of  his  Walde^rave  Nieces — The  Gordon 
Riots — Death  of  Madame  du  Deffand — The  Blue  Stockings    151 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Walpole  in  his  Sixty-fourth  Year — The  Royal  Academv — 
Tonton — Charles  Fox — W^illiam  Pitt — Mrs.  Hobarl's  Sans 
Soiici — Improvements  at  Florence — Walpole's  Dancing 
Feats — No  Feathers  at  Court — Highwaymen — Loss  of  the 
Royal  George — Mrs.  Siddons — Peace — Its  Social  Con^e- 
quences — The  Coalition — The  Rivals — Political  Excitement 
— The  W'estminster  Election — Political  Caricatures — Con- 
way's Retirement — Lady  Harrington — Balloons — Illness — 
Recovery  .85 


Contents.  vii 

CHAPTER  IX. 

PAGE 

Lady  Corresponclents--Madame  de  Genlis — Miss  Burney  and 
Hannah  More— Deaths  of  Mrs.  Clive  and  Sir  Horace  Mann 
— Story  of  Madame  de  Choiseul — Richmond — Queensberry 
House — Warren   Hastings — Genteel    Comedy — St.    Swithin 

—  Riverside  Conceits — Lord  North— The  Theatre  again — 
Gibbon's  History  —  Sheridan  —  Conway's  comedy  —  A 
Turkish  War — Society  Newspapers— The  Misses  Berry — 
Bonner's  Ghost— The  Arabian  Nights— King's  College 
Chapel— Richmond  Society — New  Arrivals — The  Berry^' 
visit  Italy — A  Farewell  Letter        .         .         .  .         .         .221 

CHAPTER  X. 

Walpole's  Love  of  English  Scenery — Richmond  Hill  —Burke 
on  the  French  Revolution — The  Berrys  at  Florence — Death 
of  George  Selwyn — London  Solitude — Repairs  at  Cliveden 
— Burke  and  Fox — The  Countess  of  Albany — Journal  of  a 
Day — Mrs.  Hobart's  Party — Ancient  Trade  with  India — 
Lady  Hamilton — A  Boat  Race — Return  of  the  Berrys — 
Horace  succeeds  to  the  Peerage — Epitaphium  Vivi  Auctoris 

—  His  Wives— Mary  Berry — Closing  Years — Love  of  Mov- 
ing Objects — Ai^itfrom  Queen  Charlotte — Death  of  Conway 

— Final  Illness  of  Horace— Hi.->  iuii  Letter    ....  262 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Horace  Walpole,  after  Lawrence 

Lawrence  Sterne,  after  Reynolds       .        . 

The  Lady  Gertrude  Fitzpatrick,  after  Reynolds 

The  Lady  Caroline  Montagu,  after  Reynolds 

The  three  Ladies  Waldegrave,  after  Reynolds 

Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  after  Rejnolds 

The  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  after  RcynoLls    . 

Mrs.  Montagu,   after  Reynolds     .... 


PAUB 

Frontispiece. 


60 

132 

148 
168 
1 88 
213 
274 


HORACE  WALPOLE  AND  HIS  WORLD. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Litroduction. — Birth  and  Parentage. — Education. — Appointments. 
— Travels.  —  Parliamentary  Career.  —  Retirement.  —  Fortune. — 
Strawberry  Hill. — Collections. — Writings. — Printing  Press. — 
Accession  to  Title. — Death. — Character. — Political  Conduct  and 
Opinions. — The  Slave-Trade. —  Strikes.— Views  of  Literature. — 
Friendships. — Charities. — Chatterton. — Letters. 

We  offer  to  the  general  reader  some  specimens  of 
Horace  Walpole's  correspondence.  Students  of  history 
and  students  of  Kterature  are  familiar  with  this  great 
mine  of  facts  and  fancies,  but  it  is  too  extensive  to  be 
fully  explored  by  those  who  have  not  both  ample  leisure 
and  strong  inclination  for  such  employment.  Yet  most 
persons,  we  imagine,  would  be  glad  to  have  some  ac- 
quaintance with  the  prince  of  English  letter-writers. 
Many  years  have  passed  since  Walter  Scott  pronounced 
Walpole's  letters  to  be  the  best  in  our  language,  and 
since  Lord  Byron  declared  them  to  be  incomparable 
The  fashion  in  style  and  composition  has  changed 
during  the  interval  almost  as  often  as  the  fashion  in 

I 


^ 


2  Introduction. 

dress  :  other  candidates,  too,  for  fame  in  the  same  depart- 
ment have  come  forward ;  but  no  one,  we  think,  has 
succeeded  in  setting  aside  the  verdict  given,  in  the 
early  part  of  our  century,  by  the  two  most  famous 
writers  of  their  time.  Meanwhile,  to  the  collections  of 
letters  by  Walpole  that  were  known  to  Scott  and 
Byron  have  been  added  several  others,  no  way  inferior 
to  the  first,  which  have  been  published  at  different 
periods ;  besides  numerous  detached  letters,  which 
hiave  come  to  light  from  various  quarters.  In  the 
years  1857-9,  appeared  a  complete  edition  of  Walpole's 
letters  in  nine  large  octavo  volumes.*  The  editor  of 
this  expressed  his  confidence  that  no  additions  of 
moment  would  afterwards  be  made  to  the  mass  of 
correspondence  which  his  industry  had  brought  together. 
Yet  he  proved  to  be  mistaken.  In  1865  came  out  Miss 
Berry's  Journals  and  Correspondence, t  containing  a 
large  quantity  of  letters  and  parts  of  letters  addressed 
to  her  and  her  sister  by  Walpole,  which  had  not 
previously  been  given  to  the  world,  as  well  as  several 
interesting  letters  to  other  persons,  the  manuscripts  of 
which  had  passed  into  and  remained  in  Miss  Berry's 
possession.  Other  letters,  too,  have  made  their  ap- 
pearance, singly  and  incidentally,  in  more  recent  publi- 
cations.! The  total  number  of  Walpole's  published 
letters  cannot  now  fall  much  short  of  three  thousand  ; 

•  "  The  Letters  of  Horace  Walpole,  Earl  of  Orford,  edited  by 
Peter  Cunningham." 

f  A  second  edition  was  published  in  i8fci6. 
X  i^'^-i  ill  Jesse's  "  Memoirs  of  George  III.' 


Birth  and  Parentage,  3 

the  earliest  of  these  is  dated  in  November,  1735,*  the 
latest  in  January,  1797.  Throughout  the  intervening 
sixty  years,  the  writer,  to  use  his  own  phrase,  lived 
always  in  the  big  busy  world  ;  and  v/hatever  there 
passed  before  him,  his  restless  fingers,  restless  even 
when  stiffened  by  the  gout,  recorded  and  commented 
on  for  the  amusement  of  his  correspondents  and  the 
benefit  of  posterity.  The  extant  results  of  his  dili- 
gence display  a  full  picture  of  the  period,  distorted 
indeed  in  many  places  by  the  prejudices  of  the  artist, 
but  truthful  on  the  whole,  and  enlivened  everywhere 
by  touches  of  genius.  From  this  mass  of  narratives 
and  descriptions,  anecdotes  and  good-sayings,  criti- 
cisms, reflections  and  raillery,  we  shall  endeavour -to 
make  as  representative  a  selection  as  our  limits  will 
permit. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  Horace  Walpole 
entered  life  as  the  son  of  the  foremost  Englishman  ol 
his  time.  He  was  born  on  the  24th  of  September,  1717, 
O.S.,  and  was  the  youngest  of  the  six  children  whom 
Sir  Robert  Walpole's  first  wife,  Catherine  Shorter, 
brought  to  her  illustrious  husband.  This  family  in- 
cluded two  other  sons,  Robert  and  Edward,  and 
two  daughters,  besides  a  fourth  son,  William,  who 
died    in    infancy,     Horace,    whose    birth    took    place 

*  Or  in  1733,  if  the  dates  of  some  letters  published  in  Not-s  and 
Queries,  4th  Series,  vol.  iii ,  p.  2,  can  be  trusted.  But  as  the 
second  of  these  letters,  the  date  of  which  is  given  as  Sep.  18,  1732, 
refers  to  the  death  of  Walpo'e's  mother,  and  as  we  know,  from  his 
own  statement,  that  Lady  Walpole  died  Aug.  20,  1737,  thete  seems 
to  be  an  error. 

I — 0 


4  Birth  and  Parentage. 

eleven  5'cars  after  that  of  the  fifth  child,  bore  no 
resemblance,  either  in  body  or  mind,  to  the  robust 
and  hearty  Sir  Robert.  He  was  of  slight  figure 
and  feeble  constitution ;  his  features  lacked  the 
comeliness  of  the  Walpole  race ;  and  his  tempera- 
ment was  of  that  fastidious,  self-conscious,  impression- 
able cast  which  generally  causes  a  man  or  boy  to  be 
called  affected.  The  scandalous,  noting  these  things, 
and  comparing  the  person  and  character  of  Horace 
Walpole  with  those  of  the  Herveys,  remembered  that 
Sir  Robert  and  his  first  wife  had  been  estranged  from 
one  another  in  the  later  years  of  their  union,  and  that 
the  lady  had  been  supposed  to  be  intimate  with  Carr 
Lord  Hervey,  elder  brother  of  Pope's  Sporus.  Horace 
jiimself  has  mentioned  that  this  Carr  was  reckoned  of 
superior  parts  to  the  more  known  John  Lord  Hervey, 
but  nowhere  in  our  author's  writings  does  it  appear  that 
the  least  suspicion  of  spurious  parentage*  had  entered 
his  thoughts.  Everywhere  he  exults  in  being  sprung 
from  the  great  Prime  Minister ;  everywhere  he  is  de- 
voted to  the  memory  of  his  mother,  to  whom  he  raised 
a  monument  in  Westminster  Abbey,  with  an  inscription 

*  The  story  that  Horace  was  of  Hervey  blood  was  first  published 
in  some  Introductory  Anecdotes  prefixed  to  the  later  editions  of 
the  works  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu.  These  anecdotes  were 
contrilDuted  by  Lady  Louisa  Stuart,  daughter  of  Lord  Bute,  the 
Prime  Minister,  and  grand-daughter  of  Lady  Mary.  Her  statement 
about  Walpole,  though  generally  accepted,  has  perhaps  received 
more  credit  than  it  deserves,  but  se  non  k  vera,  e  ben  trovato.  The 
similarity,  both  in  matter  and  composition,  between  the  memoirs 
of  Lord  Hervey  and  those  of  Horace  Walpole  is  certainly  remark- 
able. 


Education  and  Appointments.  5 

from  his  own  pen  celebrating  her  virtue.  And  in  the 
concluding  words  of  this  epigraph,  he  repeated  a 
saying,  which  he  has  elsewhere  recorded,  of  the  poet 
Pope,  that  Lady  Walpole  was  "  untainted  by  a  Court." 

Walpole  tells  us  that,  in  the  first  years  of  his  hfe, 
being  an  extremely  delicate  child,  he  was  much  indulged 
both  by  his  mother  and  Sir  Robert ;  and  as  an  instance 
of  this,  he  relates  the  well-known  story,  how  his  longing 
to  see  the  King  was  gratified  by  his  mother  carrying 
him  to  St.  James's  to  kiss  the  hand  of  George  I.  just 
before  his  Majesty  began  his  last  journey  to  Hanover, 
Shortly  after  this,  the  boy  was  sent  to  Eton,  from 
which  period  we  hear  no  more  of  Lady  Walpole,  though 
she  survived  till  August,  1737.  In  1735,  young  Horace 
proceeded  from  Eton  to  King's  College,  Cambridge, 
where  he  resided,  though  with  long  intervals  of  absence, 
until  after  he  came  of  age.  On  quitting  the  University, 
he  was  in  possession  of  a  handsome  income  arising 
from  the  patent  place  of  Usher  of  the  Exchequer,  to 
which  he  had  recently  been  appointed,  and  which  was 
then  reckoned  worth  ^^900  a  year,  and  from  two  other 
small  patent  places  in  the  Exchequer,  those  of  Clerk  of 
the  Escheats  and  Controller  of  the  Pipe,  producing 
together  about  -£y^o  a  5'ear,  which  had  been  held  for 
him  during  his  minority.  All  these  offices  had  been 
procured  for  him  by  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  and  were 
sinecures,  or  capable  of  being  executed  by  deputy. 

Finding  himself  thus  provided  for  and  at  leisure,  the 
fortunate  youth  set  out  on  the  continental  tour  which 
was   considered   indispensable   for   a  man   of  fashion. 


6  Travels. 

He  travelled,  as  he  tells  us,  at  his  own  expense ;  and 
being  well  able  to  afford  the  luxury  of  a  companion,  he 
took  with  him  Thomas  Gray  the  poet,  who  had  been 
his  associate  at  Eton  and  Cambridge.  The  pair 
visited  together  various  parts  of  France  and  Italy, 
making  a  stay  of  some  duration  at  several  places. 
After  a  few  weeks  spent  in  Paris,  they  settled  at 
Rheims  for  three  months  to  study  French.  They 
lived  here  with  their  former  school-mate,  Henr}- 
Seymour  Conway,*  Walpole's  maternal  cousin ;  and 
here  appears  to  have  been  cemented  the  lifelong  friend- 
ship between  Conway  and  Walpole  which  forms 
perhaps  the  most  honourable  feature  in  the  history  of 
the  latter.  At  Florence,  Walpole  resided  for  more  than 
twelve  months  in  the  house  of  Horace  jMann,  British 
Envoy  to  the  Court  of  Tuscan}^,  with  whom  he  formed 
an  intimacy,  which  was  maintained,  from  the  time  of 
his  leaving  Italy  until  the  death  of  Mann  forty-five 
years  after,  by  correspondence  only,  without  the  parties 
ever  meeting  again.  Gray  remained  with  Walpole  at 
Florence,  and  accompanied  him  in  visits  which  he 
made  thence  to  Rome,  Naples,  and  other  places  ;  but 

''-'  Born  in  July,  1719.  He  was  second  son  of  the  first  Lord 
Conway  by  his  third  wife,  Charlotte  Shorter,  sister  of  Lady  Wal- 
pole. He  was  Secretary  in  Ireland  during  the  vice-royalty  of 
William,  fourth  Duke  of  Devonshire  ;  then  Groom  of  the  Bed- 
chamber to  George  IL  and  to  George  IIL  ;  became  Secretary  of 
State  in  1765  ;  Lieutenant-General  of  the  Ordnance  in  1770  ; 
Commander-in-Chief  in  1782  ;  and  was  created  a  P;eld-Marsha!  in 
1793.  He  married  the  Dowager  Countess  of  Avlesb  sry,  by  whom 
he  had  an  only  child,  Mrs.  Damer,  the  sculptor,  to  whom  Walpol 
ieit  Strawberry  Hill. 


Parliamentary  Career.  7 

at  Reggio  a  dissension  arose  between  them,  and  they 
parted  to  return  home  by  different  routes.  Walpole 
subsequently  took  the  blame  of  this  dispute  upon  him- 
self. "  It  arose,"  he  says,  "  from  Gray  being  too  serious 
a  companion.  Gray  was  for  antiquities,  I  was  for  per- 
petual balls  and  plays  ;  the  fault  was  mine."  According 
to  another  account,  Walpole  had  opened  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  Gray.  Whatever  was  the  cause  of  the 
breach,  it  was  repaired  three  years  later,  and  during 
the  rest  of  the  poet's  life  he  continued  on  friendly 
terms  with  his  early  companion. 

Walpole  reached  England  in  September,  1741,  just 
before  the  meeting  of  a  new  Parliament,  and  at  the 
commencement  of  the  Session  took  his  seat  as  member 
for  Callington,  in  Cornwall,  for  which  place  he  had 
been  elected  during  his  absence.  Sir  Robert's  Govern- 
ment was  at  that  time  in  the  midst  of  the  difficulties 
which  soon  afterwards  caused  its  downfall.  In  February, 
1742,  the  defeated  Minister  resigned,  and  was  created 
Earl  of  Orford.  Horace,  as  was  to  be  expected,  took 
no  prominent  part  in  the  struggle.  His  maiden  speech 
was  delivered  in  March,  1742,  on  a  motion  for  an  inquiry 
into  the  conduct  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole  during  the  last 
ten  years  of  his  administration.  The  young  orator  was 
received  with  favour  by  the  House,  and  obtained  a  com- 
pliment from  the  great  Wilham  Pitt ;  but  the  success  of 
his  effort,  which  is  preserved  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
Mann,  must  be  attributed  entirely  to  the  circumstances 
under  which  it  was  uttered.  It  does  not  appear  that  he 
afterwards  acquired  any  reputation  in  debate.     Indeed. 


8  Parliamentary  Career. 

he  was  generally  content  ij  be  a  listener.  That  he 
was  a  constant  attendant  at  the  House,  his  correspon- 
dence sufficiently  proves,  but  he  rarely  took  an  active 
part  in  its  proceedings.  He  has  recorded  a  dispute  he 
had  with  Speaker  Onslow  in  his  second  Parliament. 
In  1751  he  moved  the  address  to  the  King  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  Session,  and  five  years  later  we  find  him 
speaking  on  a  question  of  employing  Swiss  troops  in 
the  Colonies.  In  1757  he  exerted  himself  with  much  zeal 
in  favour  of  the  unfortunate  Admiral  Byng.  This,  how- 
ever, was  by  argument  and  solicitation  outside  the 
House.  In  like  manner,  some  years  afterwards,  he 
made  strenuous,  though  vain,  endeavours,  at  the  con- 
ferences of  his  party,  to  persuade  them  not  to  support 
the  exclusion  of  the  King's  mother  from  the  Regency 
which  was  provided  for  on  the  first  serious  illness  of 
George  III. 

These  are  the  chief  incidents  of  Walpole's  public 
career,  although  he  remained  in  the  House  of  Commons 
for  twenty-seven  years.  At  the  General  Election  of 
1754  he  was  chosen  for  the  family  borough  of  Castle 
Rising  in  Norfolk,  but  vacated  this  seat  soon  after- 
wards in  order  to  be  a  candidate  for  the  town  of  King's 
Lynn,  which  had  for  many  years  returned  his  father  to 
Parliament.  Horace  continued  to  represent  Lynn 
until  the  Dissolution  of  1768,  when  he  took  leave  of  his 
constituents,  and  was  no  longer  seen  in  Westminster 
Hall.  Perhaps  the  final  reason  for  his  retirement  was 
the  failure  of  his  friend  Conway  to  retain  a  foremost 
\  osition  in  politics.     After  serving  as  Secretary  of  State 


Retirement.  o 

an  1  Leader  of  the  House  of  Commons  under  three  suc- 
cessive Premiers,  Conway,  through  feebleness  of  purpose, 
lost  his  hold  upon  office,  and  fell  for  some  years  into  the 
background.  But  with  disappointment  for  his  friend, 
there  must  have  mingled  in  Walpole's  mind  a  feeling  of 
dissatisfaction  with  himself.  Few  men  acquire  much 
weight  in  Parliament  who  do  not  at  least  occasionally 
take  a  share  in  its  discussions ;  and  Horace  had  more 
than  once  found  that  his  iniiuence  in  the  House  was  by 
no  means  proportioned  to  his  general  reputation  for 
ability.  He  was  therefore  quite  ready  to  withdraw  when 
Conway  could  no  longer  profit  by  his  vote.  Though  at 
rJl  times  a  keen  politician,  and  extremely  social  in  his 
habits,  he  was  unfitted  by  nature  for  the  conflicts  of  the 
Parliamentary  arena.  Desultory  skirmishing  with  the 
pen  was  more  to  his  taste  than  the  close  fighting  of 
debate.  During  more  than  half  his  life,  the  war  of 
parties  was  largely  carried  on  by  anonymous  pamphlets, 
and  Walpole  gave  powerful  help  in  this  way  to  his 
side ;  afterwards,  when  letters  and  articles  in  news- 
papers took  the  place  of  pamphlets,  he  became  an 
occasional  contributor  to  the  public  journals. 

But  Walpole  found  in  art  and  literature  the  chief 
employment  of  his  serious  hours.  His  reading  was  ex- 
tensive, the  most  solid  portion  of  it  being  in  the  regions 
of  history  and  archaeology.  More  engrossing  than  his 
love  of  books  was  his  passion  for  collecting  and 
imitating  antiquities  and  curiosities  of  all  kinds.  His 
ample  fortune  furnished  him  with  the  means  of  in- 
dulging  these    expensive   piubuits.      The   enioiumentj 


lo  Forluue. 

of  the  Usher  of  the  Exchequer  greatly  increased  durinsr 
his  tenure  of  that  post :  in  time  of  war — and  England 
was  often  at  war  in  those  days — they  were  sometimes 
very  large.  Walpole  admits  that  in  one  year  he  received 
as  much  as  ^£'4,200  from  this  source  ;  and  the  Commis- 
sioners of  Accounts  in  17S2  thought  that  the  annual 
value  of  the  place  might  fairly  be  stated  at  that  sum. 
There  was  an  antique  flavour  about  these  gains  which 
gave  Walpole  almost  as  much  pleasure  as  the  money 
itself.  The  duties  of  the  Usher  were  to  shut  the  gates 
of  the  Exchequer,  and  to  provide  the  Exchequer  and 
Treasury  with  the  paper,  parchment,  pens,  ink,  sand, 
wax,  tape,  and  other  articles  of  a  similar  nature  used  in 
those  departments.  The  latter  of  these  duties,  which  was 
said  to  be  as  old  as  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  at  least, 
formed  the  lucrative  part  of  the  Usher's  employment, 
as  he  was  allowed  large  profits  on  the  goods  he  thus 
purveyed  to  the  Crown.  Obviously  the  income  of  such 
an  office,  while  varying  with  the  financial  business  of 
each  year,  must  have  steadily  advanced  on  the  whole 
with  the  progress  of  the  nation.  Besides  this  place, 
and  the  two  other  patent  places  before  mentioned,  in 
all  of  which  he  continued  until  his  death,  Walpole 
enjoyed  for  many  years  a  principal  share  in  the  income 
of  the  Collectorship  of  the  Customs.  Sir  Robert 
Walpole  held  the  last  appointment  under  a  patent 
which  entitled  him  to  dispose  as  he  pleased  of  the 
reversion  during  the  lives  of  his  two  eldest  sons,  Robert 
and  Edward.  Accordingly,  he  appointed  that,  after  his 
death,  ^1,000  a  3ear  of  the  income  si  ould  be  paid  to 


Fortune.  1 1 

his  youngest  son  Horace  during  the  subsistence  of  the 
patent,  and  that  the  remainder  should  be  divided 
equally  between  Horace  and  Edward.  By  this  arrange- 
ment, Horace  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven — for  his  father 
died  in  March,  1745 — stepped  into  another  income  of 
about  £"1,400  a  year,  which  lasted  until  the  death  of  his 
brother  Sir  Edward  Walpole  in  1784.  In  his  writings  he 
speaks,  with  becoming  gratitude,  of  the  places  and  emo- 
luments bestowed  on  him  by  his  father  as  being  a  noble 
provision  for  a  third  son.  Having  thus  nobly  provided 
at  the  public  expense  for  a  child  who  had  not  yet  shown 
any  merit  or  capacity,  Sir  Robert  did  not  find  it  need- 
ful to  do  much  for  him  out  of  his  private  property.  By 
his  will,  he  bequeathed  Horace  only  a  sum  of  -£5,000 
charged  on  his  Norfolk  estate,  and  a  leasehold  house  in 
Arlington  Street.  The  greater  part  of  the  legacy  re- 
mained unpaid  for  forty  years  ;  the  house  Horace  occu- 
pied until  the  term  expired  in  178 1,  when  he  bought  a 
residence  in  Berkeley  Square.  As  Walpole  was  never' 
married,  it  is  not  surprising  that  he  died  worth  ninety- 
one  thousand  pounds  in  the  funds,  besides  other  pro- 
perty, including  his  town  house  just  mentioned,  and  his 
villa  at  Twickenham  with  its  collection  of  pictures  and 
other  works  of  art. 

The  fantastic  little  pile  of  buildings  which  he  raised  on 
the  margin  of  the  Thames  engaged  his  chief  attention 
for  many  years.  He  purchased  the  site  of  this  in  1748, 
there  being  nothing  then  on  the  land  but  a  cottage,  and 
called  it  Strawberry  Hill,  a  name  which  he  found  in  one 
of  the  title-deeds.      He   had   taken  a  lease   the   year 


12  Straivberry  Hill. 

before  of  the  cottage,  with  part  of  the  land,  from  Mrs. 
Chenevix,  a  fashionable  toy-dealer,  and  thus  describes 
his  acquisition  in  a  letter  to  Conway  :  "  It  is  a  little 
plaything-house  that  I  got  out  of  Mrs.  Chenevix's  shop, 
and  is  the  prettiest  bauble  you  ever  saw.  It  is  set  in 
enamelled  meadows,  with  filigree  hedges  : 

•  "A  small  Euphrates  through  the  piece  is  rolled, 
And  little  finches  wave  their  wings  in  gold." 

Two  delightful  roads,  that  you  would  call  dusty,  supply 
me  continually  with  coaches  and  chaises  :  barges  as 
solemn  as  Barons  of  the  Exchequer  move  under  my 
window ;  Richmond  Hill  and  Ham  walks  bound  my. 
prospect ;  but  thank  God  !  the  Thames  is  between  me 
and  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry.  Dowagers  as  plenty 
as  flounders  inhabit  all  around,  and  Pope's  ghost  is  just 
now  skimming  under  my  window  by  a  most  poetical 
moonlight.  I  have  about  land  enough  to  keep  such  a 
farm  as  Noah's,  when  he  set  up  in  the  Ark  with  a  pair 
of  each  kind ;  but  my  cottage  is  rather  cleaner  than  I 
believe  his  was  after  they  had  been  cooped  up  together 
forty  days.  The  Chenevixes  had  tricked  it  out  for 
themselves :  up  two  pair  of  stairs  is  what  they  call 
Mr.  Chenevix's  library,  furnished  with  three  maps,  one 
shelf,  a  bust  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  and  a  lame  telescope 
without  any  glasses.  Lord  John  Sackville  predeceased 
me  here,  and  instituted  certain  games  called  cricketalia, 
which  have  been  celebrated  this  very  evening  in  honour 
of  him  in  a  neighbouring  meadow." 

Having  completed  his  purchase,  Walpole  proceeded 
to     make    improvements.      His    antiquarian    studies 


Strait  berry  Hill.  13 

had  inspired  him  with  a  fondness  for  Gothic  archi- 
tecture. But  his  zeal  was  not  according  to  much 
knowledge,  nor  guided  by  a  very  pure  taste.  Gra- 
dually the  little  cottage  became  merged  in  a  strange 
nondescript  edifice,  half  castle,  half  cloister,  with  all 
kinds  of  grotesque  decorations.  "The  Castle,"  so 
Walpole  called  it,  "  was,"  he  tells  us,  "  not  entirely 
built  from  the  ground,  but  formed  at  different  times,  by 
alterations  of,  and  additions  to,  the  old  small  house.  The 
Library  and  Refectory,  or  Great  Parlour,  was  entirely 
new-built  in  1753  ;  the  Gallery,  Round  Tower,  Great 
Cloister,  and  Cabinet,  in  1760  and  1761  ;  the  Great 
North  Bed-chamber  in  1770  ;  and  the  Beauclerk  Tower 
with  the  Hexagon  Closet  in  1776."  In  a  small  cloister, 
outside  the  house,  stood  the  blue  and  white  china 
bowl,  commemorated  by  Gray,  in  which  Walpole's  cat 
was  drowned.  On  the  staircase  was  the  famous  armour 
of  Francis  I.  In  the  Gallery,  among  many  other  trea- 
sures, were  placed  the  Roman  eagle  and  the  bust  of 
Vespasian,  so  often  mentioned  in  their  owner's  corres- 
pondence. The  buildings  were  no  more  substantial 
in  structure  than  they  were  correct  in  style.  Much 
cheap  ridicule  has  been  poured  upon  "the  Castle," 
as  "  a  most  trumpery  piece  of  ginger-bread  Gothic," 
with  "pie-crust  battlements,"  and  "pinnacles  of 
lath  and  plaster."  Many  of  its  faults  and  absur- 
dities must  in  justice  be  referred  to  the  novelty  of  the 
attempt  to  apply  a  disused  style  to  the  requirements 
of  a  modern  domestic  residence.  Walpole  him- 
self was    by  no    means    blind    to    the  fiimsiness    and 


H 


Collections. 


incongruities  of  his  creation.  He  was  rather  indignant, 
indeed,  when  a  French  visitor  censured  it  as  "  non 
digne  de  la  soHdite  Anglaise ;"  but  in  his  own  descrip- 
tion of  it  he  calls  it  "a  paper  fabric,"  and  speaks  of 
the  house  and  its  decorations  as  "  a  mixture  which 
may  be  denominated,  in  some  words  of  Pope  : 
'  A  Gothic  Vatican  of  Greece  and  Rome.' " 

With  the  help  of  Mr.  Essex,  who  assisted  him  in  de- 
signing the  later  portions,  he  gradually  learned  the 
depth  of  the  architectural  ignorance  in  which  he  and 
the  "  Committee,"  who  were  his  first  advisers,  had  been 
involved  at  the  commencement  of  his  work.  In  short, 
Strawberry  Hill,  child's  baby-house  as  it  was,  proved 
the  first  step  in  the  renascence  of  Gothic  art. 

As  chamber  after  chamber  was  added  to  the  Castle, 
it  became  Walpole's  next  care  to  fill  them  with  fresh 
antiques  in  furniture,  pictures,  bronzes,  armour,  painted 
glass,  and  other  like  articles.  "  In  his  villa,"  says  Lord 
Macaulay,  "  every  apartment  is  a  museum,  every  piece 
of  furniture  is  a  curiosity;  there  is  something  strange  in 
the  form  of  the  shovel ;  there  is  a  long  story  belonging 
to  the  bell-rope.  We  wander  among  a  profusion  of 
rarities,  of  trifling  intrinsic  value,  but  so  quaint  in 
fashion,  or  connected  with  such  remarkable  names  and 
events,  that  they  may  well  detain  our  attention  for  a 
moment.  A  moment  is  enough.  Some  new  relic,  some 
new  unique,  some  new  carved  work,  some  new  enamel, 
is  forthcoming  in  an  instant.  One  cabinet  of  trinkets 
■s  no  sooner  closed  than  another  is  opened." 

Of  Walpole's  writings  other  than  his  letters,  we  do 


Writings.  1 5 

not  propose  to  offer  any  detailed  account  or  criticism. 
His  earliest  work,  "iEdes  Walpolianas,"  was  published 
as  early  as  1747;  it  was  merely  a  description  of  his 
father's  pictures  at  Houghton  Hall,  the  family  seat  in 
Norfolk.  Among  his  next  efforts  were  some  papers 
contributed  in  1753  and  following  years  to  a  periodical 
work  of  the  day,  called  The  World*  -Most  persons 
have  read  the  "  Castle  of  Otranto,"  so  warmly  ap- 
plauded by  the  author  of  "Ivanhoe."  Most  students 
of  art,  we  suppose,  are  acquainted  with  Walpole's 
"  Anecdotes  of  Painting,"  and  his  **  Catalogue  of 
Engravers."  His  **  Catalogue  of  Noble  and  Royal 
Authors,"  though  abounding  in  agreeable  anecdotes,  is 
probably  now  consulted  by  few ;  and  his  "  Historic 
Doubts  on  the  Life  and  Reign  of  Richard  HI.,"  acute 
and  ingenious  as  it  was,  cannot  detain  anyone  who  is 
aware  of  the  recent  researches  on  the  same  subject. 
His  "  Reminiscences  of  the  Courts  of  George  I.  and 
George  H.,"  and  his  "Memoirs"  and  "Journals" 
relating  to  the  reigns  of  George  11.  and  George  HI., 
are,  and  must  ever  remain,  among  the  most  valuable 
historical  documents  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The 
Reminiscences  were  written  for  the  amusement  of  the 
Misses  Berry,  and  have  been  extolled  with  justice  as 
being,  both  in  manner  and  matter,  the  very  perfection 

*  One  of  his  papers  in  T/ie  M^^orhi  contains  an  account  of  an 
escape  which  he  had,  in  1749,  of  being  shot  by  highwaymen  in 
Hyde  Park.  His  face  was  grazed  by  a  ball  from  the  pistol  of  one 
of  his  assailants,  which  went  off  accidentally  before  aim  had  been 
taken.  An  allusion  to  this  adventure  will  be  found  in  one  of  our 
extracts. 


1 6  Accession  to   Title. 

of  anecdote  writing.  The  rest  of  Walpole's  worko, 
including  his  tragedy  of  "  The  Mysterious  Mother  " — 
the  merits  of  which,  whatever  they  may  be,  are 
cancelled  by  the  atrocity  of  the  fable — are  as  nearly 
as  possible  forgotten. 

Not  content  with  writing  and  collecting  books,  Horace 
in  1757  established  a  printing  press  in  the  grounds  of 
Strawberry  Hill.  The  first  printer  employed  by  him 
was  William  Robinson;  the  last,  Thomas  Kirgate, 
whose  name  will  often  be  found  in  the  following  ex- 
tracts. The  first  work  printed  at  this  press  was  Gray's 
"Odes,"  with  Bentley's  Illustrations.  Its  other  pro- 
ductions include  Walpole's  own  Royal  and  Noble 
Authors,  Anecdotes  of  Painting,  Engravers,  and  Tragedy; 
his  "  Description  of  Strawberry  Hill,"  and  "  Fugitive 
Pieces ;"  besides  several  works  by  other  authors,  such 
as  Bentley's  "  Lucan,"  Lord  Herbert's  Life,  a  trans- 
lation of  Hentzner's  "  Travels,"  and  Lord  Whitworth's 
"Account  of  Russia;"  as  well  as  small  collections  of 
verses  by  sundry  friends.  These  "  Strawberry  Hill " 
editions  are  now  scarce,  and  command  high  prices. 

The  rest  of  our  author's  career  may  be  summed  up 
in  a  few  words.  His  eldest  brother  had  died  early,  and 
had  been  succeeded  by  an  only  son,  whose  profligac}" 
and  occasional  fits  of  insanity  caused  much  trouble. 
In  December,  1791,  when  seventy-four  years  of  age, 
Horace  became,  by  the  death  of  this  nephew.  Earl  of 
Orford,  which  made  little  addition  to  his  income,  the 
familv  estate  being  heavily  incumbered.  The  in- 
heritance  was   far   from   welcome.     In  a   letter  to   a 


Death  and  Character.  ij 

friend,  he  says  he  does  not  understand  the  management 
of  such  an  estate,  and  is  too  old  to  learn.  "  A  source 
of  lawsuits  among  my  near  relations,  endless  conversa- 
tions with  lawyers,  and  packets  of  letters  to  read  every 
day  and  answer — all  this  weight  of  new  business  is  too 
much  for  the  rag  of  life  that  yet  hangs  about  me.*  He 
never  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords.  He  lived 
for  upwards  of  five  years  longer,  in  the  full  possession 
of  all  his  faculties,  though  suffering  great  bodily  infirmity 
from  the  effects  of  gout,  to  which  he  was  long  a  martyr. 
He  died  at  his  house,  No.  ii,  Berkeley  Square,  on  the 
2nd  of  March,  1797,  in  his  eightieth  year,  and  was 
buried  at  the  family  seat  of  Houghton.  With  him  the 
male  line  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole  and  the  title  of  Orford 
became  extinct.  The  estate  of  Houghton  descended 
to  the  fourth  Earl  of  Cholmondeley,  grandson  of 
Horace  Walpole's  younger  sister  Mary,  who  married 
the  third  earl  of  that  ilk.  Strawberry  Hill  was  at  its 
founder's  absolute  disposal,  and  he  left  it,  as  alread}^ 
mentioned,  to  Mrs.  Darner,  Conway's  daughter,  but 
for  life  only,  with  limitations  over  in  strict  settlement. 

"  It  is  somewhat  curious,"  says  his  biographer,  "  as 
a  proof  of  the  inconsistency  of  the  human  mind,  that, 
having  built  his  Castle  with  so  little  view  to  durability, 
Walpole  entailed  the  perishable  possession  with  a 
degree  of  strictness  which  would  have  been  more  fit- 
ting for  a  baronial  estate.  And  that,  too,  after  having 
written  a  fable  entitled  *  The  Entail,'  in  consequence  of 
some  one  having  asked  him  whether  he  did  not  intend 
*  Letter  to  John  Pinkerton,  Dec.  26,  1791. 


1 8  Political  Conduct  and  Opinions. 

to  entail  Strawberry  Hill,  and  in  ridicule  of  such  a  pro- 
ceeding." 

Inconsistency,  caprice,  eccentricity,  affectation,  are 
faults  which  have  been  freely  charged  against  the 
character  of  Horace  Walpole.  His  strong  prejudices 
and  antipathies,  his  pride  of  rank,  his  propensity  to 
satire,  even  his  sensitive  temperament,  made  him  many 
enemies,  who  not  only  exaggerated  his  failings,  but 
succeeded,  in  some  instances  at  least,  in  transmitting 
their  personal  resentments  to  men  of  the  present 
century. 

As  a  politician,  especially,  Walpole  has  received 
rather  hard  measure  from  the  partisan  critics  on  both 
sides.  A  generation  back.  Whig  Reviewers  and  Tory 
Reviewers  vied  with  each  other  in  defaming  his  memory. 
Macaulay  and  Croker,  who  seldom  agreed  in  anything, 
were  of  one  accord  in  this.  To  Croker,  of  course, 
Horace  was  just  a  place-holder  who  furnished  a  telling 
example  of  Whig  jobbery.  To  rake  up  all  the  details  of 
his  places  in  the  Exchequer,  and  his  "  rider,"  or  charge, 
on  the  place  in  the  Customs,  to  compute  and  exaggerate 
his  gains  from  each  of  these  sources,  to  track  him  in 
dark  intrigues  for  extending  his  tenure  of  one  appoint- 
ment and  bettering  his  position  in  another;  all  this  was 
congenial  employment  for  the  Rigby  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  as  it  would  have  been  for  his  prototype  in  the 
eighteenth.  The  motive  of  Macaulay's  deadly  attack 
is  not  quite  so  obvious.  Walpole's  politics  were  those 
of  his  father  and  of  the  old  Whigs  generally.  While 
in  theory  inclined  to   Republicanism — though  he  was 


Political  Conduct  and  Opinions.  19 

never,  as  he  tells  us,  quite  a  Republican* — it  was  his 
habit,  on  practical  questions,  to  consider  what  course 
the  great  Sir  Robert  would  have  taken  under  similar 
circumstances.  There  seems  nothing  in  all  this  to 
excite  the  wrath  of  the  most  atrabilious  Liberal.  The 
truth  appears  to  be  that,  in  the  Whig  circles  of 
Macaulay's  time,  there  existed  a  traditional  grudge 
against  Horace  Walpole.  In  the  "  Memorials  of  Charles 
James  Fox,"  which  were  arranged  by  Lord  Vassall- 
Holland,  and  edited  by  Lord  John  Russell,  both  the 
noble  commentators  speak  of  Horace  in  terms  of  undis- 
guised bitterness.  Nor  is  the  cause  very  far  to  seek.  In 
politics,  Conway  was  under  the  dominion  of  Walpole  ; 
and  Conway,  on  more  than  one  critical  occasion,  dis- 
obliged the  Rockingham  faction,  from  which  the  modern 
Whigs  deduce  their  origin.  "  Conway,"  says  Lord 
John  Russell,  writing  of  the  events  of  1766,  "  had  been 
made  Secretary  of  State  by  Lord  Rockingham,  and 
ought  to  have  resigned  when  Lord  Rockingham  left 
office  ;  but  Mr.  Walpole  did  not  choose  that  this  should 
be  so."  Sixteen  years  later,  Conway  sat  again  in  a 
Cabinet  presided  over  by  Lord  Rockingham,  and  when 
that  nobleman  died,  he  again  refused  to  resign.  It  will 
be  remembered  that,  on  this  occasion,  the  Cavendishes 
and  Fox  quitted  their  places  when  the  Treasury  was 
given  to  Lord  Shelburne,  instead  of  their  own  nominee, 
the  Duke  of  Portland,  whose  only  recommendations 
were  that  he  was  Lord  of  Welbeck,  and  had  married  a 
daughter  of  the  House  of  Devonshire. 

®  "  I  have  been  called  a  Republican  ;  I  never  was  quite  that." — 
Walpole  to  Lady  Ossory,  July  7,  1782. 


20  Political  CondtLct  and  Opinio7is. 

In  1782,  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  Conway's  son-in-law, 
concurred  with  Conway  in  decHning  to  desert  the  new 
Premier  ;  and  we  know  that  Walpole  stoutly  supported, 
if  he  did  not  dictate,  the  joint  resolution  of  his  two 
friends.  Lord  Holland  tells  us  that  Fox  did  not  like 
Walpole  at  all,  and  accounts  for  this  dislike  by  sug- 
gesting that  his  uncle  may  have  imbibed  some  pre- 
judice against  Walpole  for  unkindness  shown  to  the 
first  Lord  Holland.  But  this  seems  going  needlessly  far 
back  for  an  explanation.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
Fox  looked  on  Walpole  as  having  assisted  to  thwart 
his  design  of  governing  England  in  the  name  of  the 
insignificant  Duke  of  Portland,  and  detested  him  ac- 
cordingly. Nor  did  subsequent  events  tend  to  soften 
Fox's  recollection  of  this  passage  in  his  life,  or  of  the 
persons  concerned  in  it.  Had  he  overcome  his  jealousy 
of  Lord  Shelburne,  or  had  he  succeeded  in  compelling 
his  rival  to  bow  before  the  "wooden  idol" — so  Lord 
John  Russell  himself  calls  Portland — which  he  had  set 
up,  he  would  probably,  in  either  case,  have  avoided 
the  ill-famed  coalition  with  Lord  North,  which  was  the 
main  cause  of  his  long-continued  exclusion  from  power. 
Walpole  had  spoken  his  mind  very  plainly  on  the 
subject.  "It  is  very  entertaining,"  he  wrote,  "that 
two  or  three  great  families  should  persuade  themselves 
that  they  have  an  hereditary  and  exclusive  right  of 
giving  us  a  head  without  a  tongue."*  And  he  told 
Fox  himself:  "  My  Whiggism  is  not  confined  to  the 
Peak  of  Derbyshire. "t     We   can  imagine   with  what 

*  Letter  to  Mann,  July  10,  1783. 

t  Letter  to  Lady  Ossory,  July  7,  17S2. 


PoliUcal  Co)iduct  and  Opinions.  2j 

horror  such  utterances  as  these  were  received  by  the 
beHevers  in  the  "Whig  doctrine  of  divine  right.  No 
wonder  that  Mr.  Fox  did  not  hke  Walpole.  And  what 
Mr.  Fox  disHked  was,  of  course,  anathema  to  every 
true  Whig,  and  especially  to  an  Edinburgh  Reviewer 
of  1833. 

What  do  the  complaints  of  Walpole's  political 
tergiversation  amount  to  ?  It  was  certainly  not  a  wise 
act  of  Horace  to  hang  up  in  his  bedroom  an  engraving 
of  the  death  warrant  of  Charles  I.  with  the  inscription 
"  Major  Charta."  But  the  Whig  essayist,  while 
reproving  Walpole's  strange  fancy  that,  without  the 
instrument  in  question,  the  Great  Charter  would  have 
become  of  little  importance,  might  have  recollected 
that  he  had  himself  professed  his  inability  to  see  any 
essential  distinction  between  the  execution  of  the 
Royal  Martyr  and  the  deposition  of  his  son.  Again, 
there  was  inconsistency,  no  doubt,  between  Walpole's 
admiration  of  the  Long  Parliament,  and  his  detes- 
tation of  the  National  Assembly;  yet  it  should  be 
borne  in  mind  that,  in  the  midst  of  his  disgust  at  the 
excesses  of  the  French  Revolution,  he  protested  that 
he  was  very  far  from  subscribing  to  the  whole  of 
Burke's  "  Reflections."  Why  then  should  we  be  told 
that  "  he  was  frightened  into  a  fanatical  royalist,  and 
became  one  of  the  most  extravagant  alarmists  of  those 
wretched  times  ?"  We  may  surely  ask  on  his  behalf 
the  question  which  Macaulay  put  when  the  consistency 
of  his  own  master,  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  was  impugned : 
"  Why  is  one  person  to  be  singled  out  from  among 


2  2  Political  Opinions. 

millions,  and  arraigned  before  posterity  as  a  traitor  to 
his  opinions,  only  because  events  produced  on  him  the 
effect  which  they  produced  on  a  whole  generation  ?" 

When  the  critic  tells  us  that  Walpole  was  a  mischief- 
maker  who  "  sometimes  contrived,  without  showing 
himself,  to  disturb  the  course  of  Ministerial  negotia- 
tions, and  to  spread  confusion  through  the  political 
circles,"  we  cannot  avoid  seeing  in  these  words  a 
resentful  reference  to  the  part  taken  by  Conway  on 
the  occasions  above  referred  to. 

It  was  not  Walpole's  fault  that  the  party  conflicts  of 
his  time  were  mainly  about  persons.  We  have  seen 
the  importance  which  Fox  attached  to  these  personal 
questions.  We  may  safely  say  that  this  great  man's 
disapproval  of  Walpole's  conduct  did  not  spring  from 
any  difference  on  matters  of  principle.  If  Horace  was 
an  opponent  oi  Parliamentary  Reform,  this  was  an 
open  question  among  Fox's  most  intimate  associates. 
If  he  objected  to  the  enfranchisement  of  the  Roman 
Catholics,  most  Whigs  of  his  time  did  the  same.  In 
the  dispute  with  America,  as  we  shall  see,  he  main- 
tained, from  the  first,  the  right  of  the  Colonies  to 
liberty  and  independence.  Nor  did  he  retract  his 
expressions  of  sympathy  with  the  American  Republic 
when  the  horrors  of  the  French  Revolution  made  him 
a  supporter  of  Tory  policy  in  England  and  on  the  Con- 
tinent. He  always  lamented  as  one  of  the  worst 
effects  of  the  French  excesses  that  they  must  neces- 
sarily retard  the  progress  and  establishment  of  civil 

liberty.* 

*  Miss  Berry. 


The  Slave  Trade.  23 

There  were  questions  of  social  politics  on  which  he 
was  far  in  advance  of  his  times.  "  We  have  been 
sitting,"  he  wrote,  on  the  25th  of  February,  1750, 
"  this  fortnight  on  the  African  Company.  We,  the 
British  Senate,  that  temple  of  liberty,  and  bulwark  of 
Protestant  Christianity,  have,  this  fortnight,  been  con- 
sidering methods  to  make  more  effectual  that  horrid 
traffic  of  selling  negroes.  It  has  appeared  to  us  that 
six-and-forty  thousand  of  these  wretches  are  sold  every 
year  to  our  plantations  alone  !  It  chills  one's  blood — I 
would  not  have  to  say  I  voted  for  it  for  the  Continent 
of  America !  The  destruction  of  the  miserable  in- 
habitants by  the  Spaniards  was  but  a  momentary 
misfortune  that  followed  from  the  discovery  of  the  New 
World,  compared  with  the  lasting  havoc  which  it 
brought  upon  Africa.  We  reproach  Spain,  and  yet  do 
not  even  pretend  the  nonsense  of  butchering  these  poor 
creatures  for  the  good  of  their  souls."*  The  sentiments 
thus  declared  by  Walpole  nine  years  before  Wilberforce 
was  born,  he  steadily  adhered  to  through  life.  On  this 
point,  at  least,  no  one  has  ever  charged  him  with  any 
wavering  or  inconsistency. 

We  will  mention,  before  passing  on  to  difierent 
topics,  one  other  matter  on  which  Walpole  shows  a 
Hberality  of  feeling  quite  unusual  at  any  period  of  his 
life.  In  the  summer  of  1762,  he  writes :  '  I  am  in  dis- 
tress about  my  Gallery  and  Cabinet :  the  latter  was  on 
the  point  of  being  completed,  and  is  really  striking 
beyond  description.  Last  Saturday  night  my  work- 
*  Letter  to  Sir  Horace  Mann. 


24  Views  of  Literatttre. 

men  took  their  leave,  made  their  bow,  and  left  me  up 
to  the  knees  in  shavings.  In  short,  the  journeymen 
carpenters,  like  the  cabinet-makers,  have  entered  into 
an  association  not  to  work  unless  their  wages  are 
raised ;  and  how  can  one  complain  ?  The  poor  fellows, 
whose  all  the  labour  is,  see  their  masters  advance  their 
prices  every  day,  and  think  it  reasonable  to  touch  their 
share."* 

In  the  domain  of  literature,  Walpole's  opinions  were 
largely  influenced  by  his  social  position  and  personal 
connexions.  He  rated  the  class  of  professional  writers 
as  much  below  as  they  have  ever  been  rated  above 
their  real  deserts  ;  and  this  may  perhaps  help  to  explain 
the  rancour  with  which  he  has  been  pursued  by  some 
critics.  He  could  see  nothing  wonderful  in  the  art  of 
stringing  sentences  together.  He  met  famous  authors 
daily  in  society,  and  did  not  find  that  they  were  wiser 
or  more  accomplished  than  their  neighbours.  Most  of 
them  showed  to  little  advantage  in  the  drawing-rooms 
in  which  he  felt  his  own  life  completest.  Gray  seldom 
opened  his  lips ;  Goldsmith  *'  talked  like  poor  poll  "; 
Johnson  was  Ursa  Major — a  brute  with  whom  Horace 
declined  to  be  acquainted  ;  Hume's  powers  of  mind  did 
not  appear  in  his  broad  unmeaning  face,  nor  animate 
his  awkward  conversation ;  even  Gibbon  made  a  bad 
figure  as  often  as  any  doubt  was  hinted  as  to  the  trans- 
cendent importance  of  his  luminous  or  voluminous 
history.  As  for  the  novelists,  neither  Fielding  nor 
Richardson  ever  ascended  to  the  subhme  heights  in 

*  Letter  to  Sir  Horace  Mnnn,  July  t,  1762. 


Views  of  Literattwe.  25 

which  Horace  dwelt  at  ease.  Stories  circulated  there 
of  vulgar  orgies  amidst  which  the  biographer  of  Tom 
Jones  performed  his  police  functions,  and  of  requests 
made  by  the  author  of  "  Clarissa "  to  his  female 
admirers  for  information  as  to  the  manners  of  polite 
hfe.  Walpole  shrank  from  the  coarseness  of  the  one, 
and  smiled  at  the  attempts  of  the  other  to  describe  a 
sphere  which  he  had  never  entered.  We  are  not  to 
suppose,  how^ever,  that  Horace  was  as  blind  to  the 
gradations  of  literary  rank  as  some  w^ould  have  us  be- 
lieve. When  he  told  Mann  that  The  World  was  the 
work  of  ''our  first  writers,"  instancing  Lord  Chester- 
field, Sir  Charles  Hanbury  Williams,  and  other  well-born 
dilettanti  whose  names  have  now  sunk  into  oblivion 
or  neglect,  it  is  clear  that  he  was  speaking  wdth  refer- 
ence to  the  matter  in  hand.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  great  historians  and  poets  w^ould  be  likely  or 
suitable  contributors  to  a  series  of  light  papers  intended 
for  the  macaronis  of  the  hour.  What  he  regarded  as 
the  chief  qualification  of  himself  and  his  friends  who 
wrote  for  this  fashionable  journal  was  their  familiarity 
with  the  tone  of  the  best  society.  For  himself,  Wal- 
pole constantly  disclaimed  all  pretence  to  learning  or 
exact  knowledge  of  any  kind,  and,  due  allowance  made 
for  the  vanity  of  which  undoubtedly  he  owned  an 
ample  share,  there  seems  no  reason  to  question  his 
sincerity.  We  conceive,  indeed,  that  his  estimate  of 
his  own  talents  and  acquirements  w^as  much  more 
accurate  than  it  has  usually  been  considered.  In  all 
that  related   to  literary  fame,  his   vanity  showed  itself 


26  Views  of  Literature. 

rather  in  depreciating  the  advantages  which  he  had  not, 
than  in  exalting  those  which  he  possessed.  If  he  did 
not  worship  style,  still  less  was  he  disposed  to  bow 
down  before  study  and  research.  Hence  the  low 
esteem  in  which  he  held  authors  of  all  kinds.  Some 
excuses  may  be  made  for  his  disparaging  criticisms. 
The  literati  of  his  day  were  certainly  eclipsed  by  the 
contemporary  orators.  What  writer  was  left  in  pro?e 
or  verse,  on  the  death  of  Swift,  who  could  compare  with 
Mansfield  or  the  first  William  Pitt?  Which  of  the 
poets  or  historians  of  the  next  generation  won  the 
applause  which  was  called  forth  by  the  speeches  of  Fox 
or  Sheridan  or  the  younger  Pitt  ?  If  Fox  and  Sheridan 
could  obtain  their  greatest  triumphs  in  the  midst  of 
gambling  and  dissipation,  and  apparently  without  pains 
or  application,  there  was  some  apology  for  slighting  the 
labours  of  Robertson  and  the  carefully  polished  verses 
of  Goldsmith.  With  the  exception  of  Lord  Chatham, 
whom  he  strongly  disliked,  Walpole  generally  does 
justice  to  the  great  speakers  of  his  time,  on  whichever 
side  in  politics  they  were  ranged ;  if  he  gives  no  credit 
for  genius  to  the  writers  of  the  age,  this  was  partly  at 
least  because  their  genius  was  of  no  striking  or  signal 
order.  Judgment,  sense,  and  spirit  were  Pope's  three 
marks  for  distinguishing  a  great  writer  from  an  inferior 
one,  and  these  continued  to  be  the  criteria  applicable, 
even  in  the  department  of  so-called  works  of  imagina- 
tion, down  to  the  end  of  the  century. 

Walpole,  as  in  duty  bound,  was  a  professed  worshipper 
of  Shakespeare   and    Milton,  but   we  suspect  that  hi-^ 


Friendships.  2  7 

worship  was  not  very  hearty.  It  is  clear  that  Pope 
was  the  poet  of  his  choice  ;  and  he  seems  to  have 
known  every  Hne  of  his  favourite  by  heart.  He  ad- 
mired also  the  exquisite  poetry  of  Gray,  and  this 
admiration  was  no  doubt  sincere ;  but  we  are  dis- 
posed to  think  that  it  arose  entirely  from  the  early 
connexion  between  Horace  and  the  author,  and  from  the 
feeling  that  Gray,  in  some  sort,  belonged  to  him.  Gray 
was  Walpole's  poet,  as  Conway  was  his  statesman  ; 
and  the  sense  of  ownership,  which  converted  his 
cousinly  regard  for  Conway  into  a  species  of  idolatry. 
turned  to  enthusiasm  for  Gray's  "  Odes  "  the  critical 
estimate  which  would  otherwise,  we  feel  sure,  have 
ended  in  a  pretty  strong  aversion. 

What  Walpole  said,  rather  uncharitably,  of  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds,  may,  we  fear,  be  applied  with  more 
justice  to  Walpole  himself.  All  his  geese  were  swans, 
as  the  swans  of  others  were  geese  in  his  eyes.  Conway 
was  a  man  of  integrity  and  honour,  an  excellent  soldier, 
a  fluent  speaker,  but  he  was  a  timid  and  vacillating 
politician.  That  phase  of  their  weakness  which  makes 
the  vainglorious  pique  themselves  on  having  remark- 
able friends,  is  certainly  not  unamiable,  though  it  is 
sometimes  fatiguing.  We  all  know  the  man  who  con- 
gratulates himself  on  his  good  fortune  in  being  the 
associate  of  the  versatile  Dr.  A.,  the  high-souled  Mr. 
B.,  the  original  Mr.  C,  and  so  on.  Had  Horace 
possessed  a  wife,  he  would  have  wearied  all  his 
acquaintance  with  encomiums  on  her  beauty,  wit,  wis- 
dom, and  other  matchless  perfections.      Having  no  wife 


28  Friendships. 

to  celebrate,  he  chose  to  sing  the  praises  of  General 
Conway,  and  sang  them  lustily,  and  with  good 
courage.  This  was  the  more  disinterested,  as  Conway 
appears  to  have  been  distinctly  one  of  those  persons 
who  allow  themselves  to  be  loved.  There  is  no 
questioning  the  genuineness  of  a  devotion  which  un- 
doubtedly entailed  on  Walpole  great  sacrifices.  The 
time  and  labour  which  Horace  bestowed  in  the  service 
of  his  friend's  ambition  entitle  him  to  full  credit  for 
honesty  in  the  offer  which  he  made  to  share  his  fortune 
with  the  latter,  when,  at  an  early  stage  of  his  career, 
he  was  dismissed  from  his  employments  for  opposing 
the  Ministry  of  the  day. 

This  was  not  the  only  occasion  on  which  Walpole 
showed  himself  capable  of  uncommon  generosity.  He 
made  a  similar  offer  to  Madame  du  Deffand,  when  she 
was  threatened  with  the  loss  of  her  pension.  That 
clever  leader  of  French  society  was  not,  like  Conway, 
a  connexion  of  long  standing,  but  a  mere  recent 
acquaintance  of  Horace,  who  had  no  claim  on  him 
beyond  the  pleasure  she  had  shown  in  his  company, 
and  the  pity  which  her  blind  and  helpless  old  age  de- 
manded. In  the  event,  the  lady  did  not  require  his 
assistance,  but  her  letters  prove  that  she  had  full  con- 
fidence in  his  intentions,  notwithstanding  the  harshness 
with  which  he  sometimes  repressed  her  expressions  of 
affection.  The  same  temperament  which  made  him 
fond  of  displaying  his  intimacy  with  Conwa}',  caused 
him  to  dread  the  ridicule  of  being  supposed  to  have  an 
attachment  for  the  ,poor  old  Marquise.     Hence  arose 


Charities.  2  9 

the  occasional  semblance  of  unkindness,  which  was 
contradicted  by  substantial  proofs  of  regard,  and 
which  must  be  set  down  to  undue  sensitiveness  on  the 
gentleman's  side  rather  than  to  want  of  consideration. 

The  coldness  of  heart  with  which  Walpole  is 
reproached  has,  we  think,  been  exaggerated,  "His 
affections  were  bestowed  on  few;  for  in  early  life  they 
had  never  been  cultivated."  So  much  is  admitted  by 
Miss  Berry,  a  most  favourable  witness.  But  in  society 
generally,  Horace  appears  to  have  shown  himself 
friendly  and  obliging.  His  aristc':ratic  pride  did  not 
prevent  him  from  mixing  freely  with  persons  much  his 
inferiors  in  station.  Miss  Hawkins,  daughter  of  the 
historian  of  music,  who  for  many  years  lived  near  him 
at  Twickenham,  testifies  to  his  sociable  and  liberal 
temper ;  and  Walpole's  own  letters  show  that  he  was 
at  some  trouble  to  assist  Sir  John  Hawkins  in  col- 
lecting materials  for  his  work.  The  correspondence 
between  Horace  and  his  deputies  in  the  Exchequer 
proves  the  kindly  feeling  that  subsisted  between  him 
and  them;  and  also  reveals  the  fact  that  he  employed 
them  from  time  to  time  in  dispensing  charities  which 
he  did  not  wish  to  have  disclosed.  And  Miss  Berry 
records  that,  during  his  later  life,  although  no  ostenta- 
tious contributor  to  public  charities  and  schemes  of 
improvement,  the  friends  in  whose  opinion  he  could 
confide  had  always  more  difficulty  to  repress  than  to 
excite  his  liberality. 

His  temper,  says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  was  precarious. 
Walpole,  we  believe,  would  readily  have  pleaded  guilty 


30  Chatterton. 

to  this  charge.  That  he  felt  his  infirmity  in  this  respect 
his  Letters  sufficiently  show ;  he  assigns  it  as  the  chief 
reason  why  he  preferred  to  live  alone.  Gray  was  not 
the  only  one  of  his  early  friends  with  whom  he 
quarrelled.  He  became  estranged  at  different  times 
from  Ashton,  another  college  companion  ;  from  Bentley, 
whose  taste  and  talent  he  had  employed  in  decorating 
his  Castle ;  from  George  Montagu,*  who,  next  to 
Conway,  was  long  his  most  intimate  friend;  and  from 
Mason  the  poet;  not  to  mention  other  names.  What- 
ever blame  may  attach  to  Walpole  for  these  ruptures, 
it  seems  to  be  now  pretty  well  agreed  that  in  the 
matter  of  Chatterton  he  was  guiltless.  On  this  sub- 
ject, we  need  only  quote  a  few  sentences  from  Scott. 
"  His  memory,"  says  Sir  Walter,  "  has  suffered  most  on 
account  of  his  conduct  towards  Chatterton,  in  which 
we  have  always  thought  he  was  perfectly  defensible. 
That  unhappy  son  of  genius  endeavoured  to  impose 
upon  Walpole  a  few  stanzas  of  very  inferior  merit,  as 
ancient ;  and  sent  him  an  equally  gross  and  palpable 
imposture  under  the  shape  of  a  pretended  '  List  of 
Painters.'  Walpole's  sole  crime  lies  in  not  patronizing 
at  once  a  young  man  who  only  appeared  before  him 
in  the  character  of  a  very  inartificial  impostor,  though 
he  afterwards  proved  himself  a  gigantic  one.  The 
fate  of  Chatterton  lies,  not  at  the  door  of  Walpole,  but 

*  Son  of  Brigadier-General  Edward  Montagu,  and  nephew  to 
the  second  Earl  of  Halifax.  He  was  member  of  Parliament  for 
Northampton,  usher  of  the  Black  Rod  in  Ireland  during  the  lieu- 
tenancy of  the  Earl  of  Halifax,  ranger  of  Salsey  Forest,  and  private 
secretary  to  Lord  North  when  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer. 


Walpoles  Letters.  31 

of  the  public  at  large,  who  two  years,  we  believe,  after- 
wards were  possessed  of  the  splendid  proofs  of  his 
natural  powers,  and  any  one  of  whom  was  as  much 
called  upon  as  Walpole  to  prevent  the  most  unhappy 
catastrophe."* 

We  turn  from  Walpole's  life  and  character  to  his 
Letters.  We  have  already  mentioned  the  friends  to 
whom  the  earlier  portion  of  these  were  chiefly  ad- 
dressed. Other  friends  to  whom  he  occasionally 
wrote  were  Lord  Hertford,  Conway's  elder  brother. 
Lord  Strafford,  Cole,  the  antiquary  of  Cambridge, 
and  John  Chute,  with  whom  he  had  been  intimate  at 
Florence.  The  names  of  some  later  correspondents  will 
appear  as  we  proceed,  of  whom  such  an  account  as 
may  seem  necessary  will  be  given  as  they  come  before 
us.  Of  the  pains  and  skill  with  which  the  matter  of 
each  letter  is  adapted  to  the  person  for  whom  it  was 
intended,  our  readers  will  be  able  to  judge  for  them- 
selves. That  the  author  had  studied  letter-writing  as 
an  art,  is  a  remark  almost  too  trivial  to  be  repeated. 
It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  he  made  it  his  chief 
literary  business.  "  Mine,"  he  said,  "  is  a  life  of  letter- 
writing."  That  he  counted  on  being  remembered  by 
his  letters  far  more  than  by  any  other  of  his  writings, 
we  hold  to  be  as  certain  as  any  statement  of  the  kind 

*  Had  Chatterton  appealed  simply  to  Walpole's  charity,  he 
would  not  have  been  rejected.  This  was  the  opinion  of  those  who 
knew  Horace  best.  But,  apart  from  the  imposture  sought  to  be 
palmed  on  him,  Walpole  did  not  profess  to  be  a  patron  of  litera- 
ture or  the  arts.  An  artist  has  pencils,  he  would  say,  and  an 
author  has  pens,  and  the  public  must  reward  them  as  it  sees  fit. 


32    .  Walpoles  Letters. 

can  be.  He  had,  we  believe,  gauged  his  powers 
far  more  correctly  than  is  commonly  supposed,  and 
was  satisfied  that  in  this  kind  of  composition,  more 
than  in  any  other,  he  had  produced  something  of  per- 
manent value.  He  had  studied  closely  the  letters  of 
Gray  and  Madame  de  Sevigne,  and  formed  his  own 
style  from  them.  The  letters  of  the  latter  were  his 
especial  delight.  He  read  them  over  until  they  became 
part  of  his  own  mind.  Nothing  interested  him  so 
much  as  a  rumour  that  some  fresh  letters  of  "  Notre 
Dame  des  Rochers  "  had  been  discovered.  It  may  be 
too  much  to  say,  as  Miss  Berry  has  said,  that  Walpole 
h?is  shown  our  language  to  be  capable  of  all  the  graces 
and  all  the  charms  of  the  French  of  the  great  writer 
whom  he  imitated.  But,  due  allowance  made  for  the 
superiority  of  French  idiom  and  French  finesse  in  a 
department  where  they  appear  to  most  advantage, 
it  may  safely  be  affirmed  that,  if  variety  and  interest  of 
topics  be  regarded  as  well  as  style,  Walpole's  letters 
are  unrivalled.  It  was  only  by  degrees  that  Horace 
attained  to  the  perfection  of  easy  engaging  writing. 
His  earlier  letters  betray  signs  of  considerable  labour. 
It  is  said  that  a  summary  prepared  beforehand  of  one 
of  his  letters  to  Montagu  was  found  in  looking  over 
some  of  his  correspondence.  In  later  days  he  wrote 
with  the  greatest  facihty,  even  carrying  on  a  conver- 
sation the  while.  But  he  continued  to  the  last  the 
habit  of  putting  down  on  the  backs  of  letters  or  slips 
of  paper,  a  note  of  facts,  of  news,  of  witticisms,  or  of 
anything  he  wished  not  to  forget  for  the  amusement  of 
his  correspondents. 


Country  Life.  ^^ 


CHAPTER  II. 

Country  Life. — Ranelagh  Gardens. — The  Rebel  Lords. — The 
Earthquake. — A  Frolic  at  Vauxhall. — Capture  of  a  House- 
breaker.— Strawberry  Hill. — The  Beautiful  Gunnings. — Sterne. 

We  pass  over  such  of  Walpole's  letters  as  were  written 
before  his  return  from  his  travels.  They  are  interesting 
chiefly  as  parts  of  a  correspondence  carried  on  by  four 
young  men  of  talent — Gray,  West,  Ashton,  and  Horace 
himself — who,  having  been  schoolfellows,  had  formed 
what  they  called  a  quadruple  alliance  ;  and  it  must  be 
owned  that  Walpole  in  this  correspondence  shines  less 
than  Gray,  who  appears  to  have  been  the  mentor  of  the 
group,  and  less,  too,  perhaps  than  West,  whose  early 
death  disappointed  great  hopes.  We  omit,  besides,  all 
reference  to  the  letters  in  which  Horace  described  the 
great  Walpolean  battle,  and  traced  the  fortunes  of  the 
Broad  Bottom  Administration.  And,  with  few  excep- 
tions, his  accounts  of  later  political  events  have  also 
been  excluded.  The  additions  which  his  gossiping 
chronicles  have  made  to  our  knowledge  of  these  matters 
have  been  incorporated  in  most  recent  histories  of  the 

3 


34  Country  Life, 

period  ;  the  extracts  given  in  the  present  volume  are 
designed,  as  a  rule,  to  illustrate  the  history  of  manners 
rather  than  of  politics. 

From  the  moment  of  his  return  from  the  Continent 
until  he  lost  his  father,  Horace  lived  in  the  old  states- 
man's house,  dividing  his  time,  for  the  most  part, 
between  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  amusements 
of  fashionable  society.  In  the  latter  sphere,  the  Honour- 
able Mr.  Walpole  soon  achieved  success.  Several  years 
afterwards,  he  defined  himself  as  a  dancing  senator. 
His  first  season  witnessed  the  opening  of  Ranelagh 
Gardens,  which  at  once  became  the  resort  of  the  great 
world.  Grave  ministers  and  privy  councillors  were  to 
be  seen  there  in  the  crowd  of  beauties  and  macaronis. 
Horace  relates  that  he  carried  Sir  Robert  thither  just 
before  attending  him  on  his  retreat  to  Houghton. 
Constrained  by  filial  dut}',  the  young  man  revisited  the 
famil}^  seat  in  each  of  the  two  following  years,  but  he 
went  sorely  against  his  will.  With  his  father's  coarse 
habits  and  boisterous  manners  he  had  nothing  in 
common ;  his  feeble  constitution  was  unequal  to  the 
sports  of  the  field,  and  the  drinking  that  then  accom- 
panied them  ;  nor  could  the  scenery  of  Norfolk,  which 
he  disliked,  make  him  forget  the  excitements  of  West- 
minster and  Chelsea.  Yet  to  these  visits  to  Houghton 
his  readers  owe  some  entertaining  sketches  of  English 
country  life  in  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  following  lively  letter  addressed 
to  John  Chute,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  mii.de  at 
Florence ; 


Country  Life.  35 

"  Houghton,  August  20,  1743. 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  Sir,  you  certainly  did  not  use  to  be 
?tupid,  and  till  you  give  me  more  substantial  proof  that 
you  are  so,  I  shall  not  believe  it.  As  for  your  temperate 
diet  and  milk  bringing  about  such  a  metamorphosis,  I 
hold  it  impossible.  I  have  such  lamentable  proofs  every 
day  before  my  eyes  of  the  stupifying  qualities  of  beef, 
ale,  and  wine,  that  I  have  contracted  a  most  religious 
veneration  for  your  spiritual  nouriture.  Only  imagine 
that  I  here  every  day  see  men,  who  are  mountains  of 
roast  beef,  and  only  seem  just  roughly  hevvn  out  into 
the  outlines  of  human  form,  like  the  giant-rock  at 
Pratolino  !  I  shudder  when  I  see  them  brandish  their 
knives  in  act  to  carve,  and  look  on  them  as  savages  that 
devour  one  another.  I  should  not  stare  at  all  more 
than  I  do,  if  yonder  Alderman  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
table  was  to  stick  his  fork  into  his  neighbour's  jolly 
cheek,  and  cut  a  brave  slice  of  brown  and  fat.  Why, 
I'll  swear  I  see  no  difference  between  a  country  gentle- 
man and  a  sirloin ;  whenever  the  first  laughs,  or  the 
latter  is  cut,  there  run  out  just  the  same  streams  of 
gravy  !  Indeed,  the  sirloin  does  not  ask  quite  so  many 
questions.  I  have  an  Aunt  here,  a  family  piece  of  goods, 
an  old  remnant  of  inquisitive  hospitalit}^  and  economy, 
who,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  is  as  beefy  as  her 
neighbours.  She  wore  me  so  down  yesterday  with 
interrogatories,  that  I  dreamt  all  night  she  was  at  my 
ear  with  'who's'  and  'why's,'  and  *  when's '  and 
"  where's,'  till  at  last  in  my  very  sleep  I  cried  out,  '  For 
heaven's  sake,  Madam,  ask  me  no  more  questions !' 

3—2 


36  Country  Life. 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  Sir,  don't  you  find  that  nine  parts  in 
ten  of  the  world  are  of  no  use  but  to  make  you  wish 
yourself  with  that  tenth  part  ?  I  am  so  far  from  grow- 
ing used  to  mankind  by  living  amongst  them,  that  my 
natural  ferocity  and  wildness  does  but  every  day  grow 
worse.  They  tire  me,  they  fatigue  me  ;  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  them ;  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to 
them  ;  I  fling  open  the  windows,  and  fancy  I  want  air  ; 
and  when  I  get  by  myself,  I  undress  myself,  and  seem 
to  have  had  people  in  my  pockets,  in  my  plaits,  and  on 
my  shoulders  !  I  indeed  find  this  fatigue  worse  in  the 
country  than  in  town,  because  one  can  avoid  it  there 
and  has  more  resources  ;  but  it  is  there  too.  I  fear  'tis 
growing  old  ;  but  I  literally  seem  to  have  murdered  a 
man  whose  name  was  Ennui,  for  his  ghost  is  ever  before 
me.  They  say  there  is  no  English  word  for  ennui;  I 
think  you  may  translate  it  most  literally  by  what  is 
called  'entertaining  people,'  and  'doing  the  honours:' 
that  is,  you  sit  an  hour  with  somebody  you  don't  know 
and  don't  care  for,  talk  about  the  wind  and  the  weather, 
and  ask  a  thousand  foolish  questions,  which  all  begin 
with,  *  I  think  you  live  a  good  deal  in  the  country,'  or, 
*  I  think  you  don't  love  this  thing  or  that.'  Oh  !  'tis 
dreadful ! 

*'  I'll  tell  you  what  is  delightful — the  Dominichin  !* 
My  dear  Sir,  if  ever  there  was  a  Dominichin,  if  there 
was  ever  an  original  picture,  this  is  one.     I  am  quite 

*  Thus  described  by  Walpole  in  his  account  of  the  pictures  at 
Hou;4hton  :  "The  Virgin  and  Child,  a  most  beautiful,  bright,  and 
capital  picture,  by  Dominichino  :  bought  out  of  the  Zambeccaii 
Palace  at  Bologna  by  Horace  Walpole,  junioi." 


Co  lint  ly  Life.  37 

happy  ;  for  my  father  is  as  much  transported  with  it  as 
I  am.  It  is  hung  in  the  gallery,  where  are  all  his  most 
capital  pictures,  and  he  himself  thinks  it  beats  all  but 
the  two  Guidos.  That  of  the  Doctors  and  the  Octagon 
— I  don't  know  if  you  ever  saw  them  ?  What  a  chain 
of  thought  this  leads  me  into  !  but  why  should  I  not 
indulge  it  ?  I  will  flatter  myself  with  your  some  time 
or  other  passing  a  few  days  here  with  me.  Why  must 
I  never  expect  to  see  anything  but  Beefs  in  a  gallery 
which  would  not  yield  even  to  the  Colonna  ?" 

Again  the  following  to  Sir  Horace  Mann ; 

"  Newmarket,  Oct.  3,  1743. 

**  I  am  writing  to  you  in  an  inn  on  the  road  to 
London.  What  a  paradise  should  I  have  thought  this 
when  I  was  in  the  Italian  inns  !  in  a  wide  barn  with 
four  ample  windows,  which  had  nothing  more  like  glass 
than  shutters  and  iron  bars  !  no  tester  to  the  bed,  and 
the  saddles  and  portmanteaus  heaped  on  me  to  keep  off 
the  cold.  What  a  paradise  did  I  think  the  inn  at  Dover 
when  I  came  back !  and  what  magnificence  were  two- 
penny prints,  salt  cellars,  and  boxes  to  hold  the  knives ; 
but  the  sunmmm  honnm  was  small-beer  and  the  news- 
paper. 

*' '  I  bless'd  my  stars,  and  call'd  it  luxury  !* 

"  Who  was  the  Neapolitan  ambassadress*  that  could 
not  live  at  Paris,  because  there  was  no  macaroni  ? 
Now  am  I  relapsed  into  all  the  dissatisfied  repinement 
of  a  true  English  grumbling  voluptuary.     I  could  find 

*  The  Princess  of  Campoflorido. 


38  Country  Life. 

in  my  heart  to  write  a  Craftsman  against  the  Govern- 
ment, because  I  am  not  quite  so  much  at  my  ease  as  on 
my  own  sofa.  I  could  persuade  myself  that  it  is  my 
Lord  Carteret's  fault  that  I  am  only  sitting  in  a 
common  arm-chair,  when  I  would  be  lolling  in  a  pcche- 
mortel.  How  dismal,  how  solitary,  how  scrub  does  this 
town  look ;  and  yet  it  has  actually  a  street  of  houses 
better  than  Parma  or  Modena.  Nay,  the  houses  of  the 
people  of  fashion,  who  come  hither  for  the  races,  are 
palaces  to  what  houses  in  London  itself  were  fifteen 
years  ago.  People  do  begin  to  live  again  now,  and  I 
suppose  in  a  term  we  shall  revert  to  York  Houses, 
Clarendon  Houses,  etc.  But  from  that  grandeur  all 
the  nobility  had  contracted  themselves  to  live  in  coops 
of  a  dining-room,  a  dark  back-room,  with  one  eye  in  a 
corner,  and  a  closet.  Think  what  London  would  be,  if 
the  chief  houses  were  in  it,  as  in  the  cities  in  other 
countries,  and  not  dispersed  like  great  rarity-plums  in  a 
vast  pudding  of  countr}-.  Well,  it  is  a  tolerable  place 
as  it  is  !  Were  I  a  physician,  I  would  prescribe  nothing 
but  recipe,  ccclxv  drachm.  Londin.  Would  you  know 
why  I  like  London  so  much  ?  Why,  if  the  world  must 
consist  of  so  many  fools  as  it  does,  I  choose  to  take 
them  in  the  gross,  and  not  made  into  separate  pills,  as 
they  are  prepared  in  the  countr}'.  Besides,  there  is  no 
being  alone  but  in  a  metropolis:  the  worst  place  in  the 
world  to  find  solitude  is  the  country :  questions  grow  there, 
and  that  unpleasant  Christian  commodity,  neighbours. 
Oh  !  they  are  all  good  Samaritans,  and  do  so  pour  balms 
and  nostrums  upon  one,  if  one  has  but  the  toothache, 


Country  Life.  39 

or  a  journey  to  take,  that  they  break  one's  head.  A 
journey  to  take — ay !  they  talk  over  the  miles  to  you, 
and  tell  you,  you  will  be  late  in.  My  Lord  Lovel  says, 
John  always  goes  two  hours  in  the  dark  in  the  morning, 
to  avoid  being  one  hour  in  the  dark  in  the  evening.  I 
was  pressed  to  set  out  to-day  before  seven :  I  did  before 
nine ;  and  here  am  I  arrived  at  a  quarter  past  five,  for 
the  rest  of  the  night. 

"  I  am  more  convinced  every  day,  that  there  is  not 
only  no  knowledge  of  the  world  out  of  a  great  city,  but 
no  decency,  no  practicable  society — I  had  almost  said 
not  a  virtue.  I  will  only  instance  in  modesty,  which  all 
old,  Englishmen  are  persuaded  cannot  exist  within  the 
atmosphere  of  Middlesex.  Lady  Mary  has  a  remarkable 
taste  and  knowledge  of  music,  and  can  sing — I  don't 
say,  like  your  sister ;  but  I  am  sure  she  would  be  ready 
to  die  if  obliged  to  sing  before  three  people,  or  before 
one  with  whom  she  is  not  intimate.  The  other  day 
there  came  to  see  her  a  Norfolk  heiress  ;  the  young 
gentlewoman  had  not  been  three  hours  in  the  house, 
and  that  for  the  first  time  of  her  life,  before  she  notified 
her  talent  for  singing,  and  invited  herself  upstairs,  to 
Lady  Mary's  harpsichord ;  where,  with  a  voice  like 
thunder,  and  with  as  little  harmony,  she  sang  to  nine 
or  ten  people  for  an  hour.  '  Was  ever  nymph  like 
Rossymonde?' — no,  dlionneur.  We  told  her  she  had  a 
very  strong  voice.  '  Why,  Sir !  my  master  says  it  is 
nothing  to  what  it  was.'  My  dear  child,  she  brags 
abominably  ;  if  it  had  been  a  thousandth  degree  louder, 
you  must  have  heard  it  at  Florence." 


40  Ranelagh. 

Arrived  in  London,  he  is  again  in  his  element.  *'  You 
must  be  informed,"  he  writes  to  Conway,  "  that  every 
night  constantly  I  go  to  Ranelagh,  which  has  totally 
beat  Vauxhall.  Nobody  goes  anywhere  else — everybody 
goes  there.  My  Lord  Chesterfield  is  so  fond  of  it,  that 
he  says  he  has  ordered  all  his  letters  to  be  directed 
thither.  If  you  had  never  seen  it,  I  would  make  you  a 
most  pompous  description  of  it,  and  tell  you  how  the 
floor  is  all  of  beaten  princes — that  you  can't  set  your 
foot  without  treading  on  a  Prince  of  Wales  or  Duke  of 
Cumberland.  The  company  is  universal :  there  is  from 
his  Grace  of  Grafton  down  to  children  out  of  the 
Foundling  Hospital — from  my  Lady  Townshend  to  the 
kitten — from  my  Lord  Sandys*  to  your  humble  cousin 
and  sincere  friend." 

From  scenes  like  this  Conway's  humble  cousin  was 
removed,  though  not  for  long,  by  the  last  illness  and 
death  of  Lord  Orford.  The  Rebellion  of  1745,  which 
quickly  followed,  produced  only  a  momentary  stir  in 
London.  But  the  trials  and  executions  of  the  rebel 
Lords,  occurring  in  the  Capital  itself,  excited  longer 
interest.  We  give  Walpole's  narrative  of  the  execution 
of  Lords  Kilmarnock  and  Balmerino  : 

*'  Just  before  they  came  out  of  the  Tower,  Lord 
Balmerino  drank  a  bumper  to  King  James's  health.  As 
the  clock  struck  ten,  they  came  forth  on  foot,  Lord 
Kilmarnock  all  in  black,  his  hair  unpowdered  in  a  bag, 
supported  by  Forster,  the  great  Presbyterian,  and  by 

*  Lord  Orford's  successor  as  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer. 


The  Rebel  Lords.  4 1 

Mr.  Home,  a  young  clergyman,  his  friend.  Lord 
Balmerino  followed,  alone,  in  a  blue  coat,  turned  up 
with  red,  (his  rebellious  regimentals,)  a  flannel  waistcoat, 
and  his  shroud  beneath  ;  their  hearses  following.  They 
were  conducted  to  a  house  near  the  scaffold :  the  room 
forwards  had  benches  for  spectators,  in  the  second 
Lord  Kilmarnock  was  put,  and  in  the  third  backwards 
Lord  Balmerino  :  all  three  chambers  hung  with  black. 
Here  they  parted  !  Balmerino  embraced  the  other, 
and  said,  '  My  lord,  I  wish  I  could  suffer  for  both !' 
He  had  scarce  left  him,  before  he  desired  again  to  see 
him,  and  then  asked  him,  '  My  Lord  Kilmarnock,  do 
you  know  anything  of  the  resolution  taken  in  our  army, 
the  day  before  the  battle  of  Culloden,  to  put  the  English 
prisoners  to  death  ?'  He  replied,  *  My  lord,  I  was  not  pre- 
sent ;  but  since  I  came  hither,  I  have  had  all  the  reason  in 
the  world  to  believe  that  there  was  such  order  taken ; 
and  I  hear  the  Duke  has  the  pocket-book  with  the 
order.'  Balmerino  answered,  '  It  was  a  lie  raised  to 
excuse  their  barbarity  to  us.' — Take  notice,  that  the 
Duke's  charging  this  on  Lord  Kilmarnock  (certainly  on 
misinformation)  decided  this  unhappy  man's  fate  !  The 
most  now  pretended  is,  that  it  would  have  come  to 
Lord  Kilmarnock's  turn  to  have  given  the  word  for  the 
slaughter,  as  lieutenant-general,  with  the  patent  for 
which  he  was  immediately  drawn  into  the  rebellion, 
after  having  been  staggered  by  his  wife,  her  mother,  his 
own  poverty,  and  the  defeat  of  Cope.  He  remained  an 
hour  and  a  half  in  the  house,  and  shed  tears.  At  last 
he  came  to  the  scaffold,  certainly  much  terrified,  but 


42  The  Rebel  Lords. 

with  a  resolution  that  prevented  his  behaving  in  the 

least   meanly  or   unlike   a   gentleman.*     He   took   no 

notice  of  the  crowd,  only  to  desire  that  the  baize  might 

be  lifted  up  from  the  rails,  that  the  mob  might  see  the 

spectacle.    He  stood  and  prayed  some  time  with  Forster, 

who  wept  over  him,  exhorted  and  encouraged  him.    He 

delivered  a  long  speech  to  the  Sheriff,  and  with  a  noble 

manliness  stuck  to  the  recantation  he  had  made  at  his 

trial ;  declaring  he  wished  that  all  who  embarked  in  the 

same  cause  might  meet  the  same  fate.      He  then  took 

off  his  bag,  coat  and  waistcoat,  with  great  composure, 

and  after  some  trouble  put  on  a  napkin-cap,  and  then 

several  times  tried  the   block ;    the   executioner,  who 

was  in  white,  with  a  white  apron,  out  of  tenderness 

concealing  the  axe  behind  himself.     At  last  the  Earl 

knelt  down,  with  a  visible  unwillingness  to  depart,  and 

after  five  minutes  dropped  his  handkerchief,  the  signal, 

and  his  head  was  cut  off  at  once,  only  hanging  by  a  bit 

of  skin,  and  was  received  in  a  scarlet  cloth  by  four  of 

the  undertaker's  men  kneeling,  who  wrapped  it  up  and 

put  it  into  the  coffin  with  the  body ;    orders  having 

been  given  not  to  expose  the  heads,  as  used  to  be  the 

custom. 

*  When  he  [Kilmarnock]  beheld  the  fatal  scaffold  covered  with 
black  cloth  ;  the  executioner,  with  his  axe  and  his  assistants  ;  the 
saw-dust,  which  was  soon  to  be  drenched  with  his  blood  ;  the 
coffin,  prepared  to  receive  the  limbs  which  were  yet  warm  with 
life  ;  above  all,  the  immense  display  of  human  countenances  which 
surrounded  the  scaffold  like  a  sea,  all  eyes  being  bent  on  the  sad 
object  of  the  preparation, — his  natural  feelings  broke  forth  in  a 
whisper  to  the  friend  on  whose  arm  he  leaned,  "  Home,  this  is 
terrible  I"  No  sign  of  indecent  timidity,  however,  affected  his  beha- 
viour.— Sir  Walter  Scoffs  Tales  of  viy  Cmnd/ai/ier. 


The  Rebel  Lords.  43 

"The  scaffold  was  immediately  new-strewed  with 
saw-dust,  the  block  new-covered,  the  executioner  new- 
dressed,  and  a  new  axe  brought.  Then  came  old 
Balmerino,  treading  with  the  air  of  a  general.  As  soon 
as  he  mounted  the  scaffold,  he  read  the  inscription  on 
his  coffin,  as  he  did  again  afterwards  :  he  then  surveyed 
the  spectators,  who  were  in  amazing  numbers,  even 
upon  masts  of  ships  in  the  river ;  and  pulling  out  his 
spectacles,  read  at  reasonable  speech,  which  he  delivered 
to  the  Sheriff,  and  said,  the  young  Pretender  was  so 
sweet  a  Prince,  that  flesh  and  blood  could  not  resist 
following  him ;  and  lying  down  to  try  the  block,  he 
said,  *  If  I  had  a  thousand  lives,  I  would  lay  them  all 
down  here  in  the  same  cause.'  He  said,  if  he  had  not 
taken  the  sacrament  the  day  before,  he  would  have 
knocked  down  Williamson,  the  lieutenant  of  the  Tower, 
for  his  ill-usage  of  him.  He  took  the  axe  and  felt  it, 
and  asked  the  headsman  how  many  blows  he  had  given 
Lord  Kilmarnock  ;  and  gave  him  three  guineas.  Two 
clergymen,  who  attended  him,  coming  up,  he  said, 
*  No,  gentlemen,  I  believe  you  have  already  done  me 
all  the  service  you  can.'  Then  he  went  to  the  corner 
of  the  scaffold,  and  called  very  loud  for  the  warder,  to 
give  him  his  periwig,  which  he  took  off,  and  put  on  a 
night-cap  of  Scotch  plaid,  and  then  pulled  off  his  coat 
and  waistcoat  and  lay  down ;  but  being  told  he  was  on 
the  wrong  side,  vaulted  round,  and  immediately  gave 
the  sign  by  tossing  up  his  arm,  as  if  he  were  giving 
the  signal  for  battle.  He  received  three  blows,  but 
the  first  certainly  took  away  all  sensation.     He  was  not 


44  The  Earihqtiake. 

a  quarter  of  an  hour  on  the  scaffold  ;  Lord  Kilmarnock 
above  half  a  one,  Balmerino  certainly  died  with  the 
intrepidity  of  a  hero,  but  with  the  insensibility  of  one 
too.  As  he  walked  from  his  prison  to  execution,  seeing 
every  window  and  top  of  house  filled  with  spectators, 
he  cried  out,  '  Look,  look,  how  they  are  all  piled  up  like 
rotten  oranges !'  " 

Horace  was  now  in  the  full  tide  of  fashion,  not  to  say 
dissipation.  For  a  good  many  years  the  opera,  plays, 
balls,  routs,  and  other  diversions  public  and  private 
occupy  as  much  space  in  his  letters  as  the  war  or  the 
peace,  the  debates  in  Parliament,  and  the  intrigues  of 
party  leaders.  Mingled  with  topics  of  both  kinds,  we 
have  journeys  to  visit  great  houses  in  the  country, 
schemes  for  their  improvement,  designs  for  the  Gothic 
villa  at  Strawberry  Hill,  abundance  of  scandal,  and 
playful  satire  on  the  follies  of  the  day.  Here  is  an 
amusing  account  of  the  sensation  produced  by  the 
earthquake  which  alarmed  London  in  1750.  It  will  be 
seen  that  the  more  serious  feelings  which  the  event 
awakened  were  as  ridiculous  in  Walpole's  eyes  as  any 
part  of  the  panic  : 

*' '  Portents  and  prodigies  are  grown  so  frequent, 
That  they  have  lost  their  name.' 

"  My  text  is  not  literally  true  ;  but  as  far  as  earth- 
quakes go  towards  lowering  the  price  of  wonderful 
commodities,  to  be  sure  we  are  overstocked.  We  have 
had  a  second,  much  more  violent  than  the  first ;  and 
you  must  not  be  surprised  if  by  next  post  you  hear 
of  a  burning  mountain  sprung  up  in  Smithfield,    In  the 


The  Earthquake.  45 

night  between  Wednesday  and  Thursday  last,  (exactly 
a  month  since  the  first  shock,)  the  earth  had  a  shivering 
fit  between  one  and  two  ;  but  so  slight  that,  if  no  more 
had  followed,  I  don't  believe  it  would  have  been  noticed. 
I  had  been  awake,  and  had  scarce  dozed  again — on  a 
sudden  I  felt  my  bolster  lift  up  my  head ;  I  thought 
somebody  was  getting  from  under  my  bed,  but  soon 
found  it  was  a  strong  earthquake,  that  lasted  near  half 
a  minute,  with  a  violent  vibration  and  great  roaring.  I 
rang  my  bell;  my  servant  came  in,  frightened  out  of  his 
senses  :  in  an  instant  we  heard  all  the  windows  in  the 
neighbourhood  flung  up.  I  got  up  and  found  people 
running  into  the  streets,  but  saw  no  mischief  done  : 
there  has  been  some ;  two  old  houses  flung  down, 
several  chimneys,  and  much  china-ware.  The  bells 
rang  in  several  houses.  Admiral  Knowles,  who  has 
lived  long  in  Jamaica,  and  felt  seven  there,  says  this 
was  more  violent  than  any  of  them  :  Francesco  prefers 
it  to  the  dreadful  one  at  Leghorn.  The  wise  say,  that 
if  we  have  not  rain  soon,  we  shall  certainly  have  more. 
Several  people  are  going  out  of  town,  for  it  has  nowhere 
reached  above  ten  miles  from  London  :  they  say,  they 
are  not  frightened,  but  that  it  is  such  fine  weather, 
'Why,  one  can't  help  going  into  the  country!'  The 
only  visible  effect  it  has  had,  was  on  the  ridotto,  at 
which,  being  the  following  night,  there  were  but  four 
hundred  people.  A  parson,  who  came  into  White's 
the  morning  of  earthquake  the  first,  and  heard  bets 
laid  on  whether  it  was  an  earthquake  or  the  blowing  up 
of  powder-mills,  went   away  exceedingly  scandalised, 


46  TJie  Earthquake. 

and  said,  *  I  protest,  they  are  such  an  impious  set  of 
people,  that  I  believe  if  the  last  trumpet  was  to  sound, 
they  would  bet  puppet-show  against  Judgment.'  If  we 
get  any  nearer  stiK  to  the  torrid  zone,  I  shall  pique  myself 
on  sending  you  a  present  of  cedrati  and  orange-flower 
water :  I  am  already  planning  a  terreno  for  Strawberry 
Hill.  .  .  . 

"You  will  not  wonder  so  much  at  our  earthquakes  as 
at  the  effects  they  have  had.  All  the  women  in  town 
have  taken  them  up  upon  the  foot  of  Jiidguicnts  ;  and 
the  clergy,  who  have  had  no  windfalls  of  a  long  season, 
have  driven  horse  and  foot  into  this  opinion.  There 
has  been  a  shower  of  sermons  and  exhortations : 
Seeker,*  the  Jesuitical  Bishop  of  Oxford,  began  the 
mode.  He  heard  the  women  were  all  going  out  of 
town  to  avoid  the  next  shock  ;  and  so,  for  fear  of  losing 
his  Easter  offerings,  he  set  himself  to  advise  them  to 
await  God's  good  pleasure  in  fear  and  trembling.  But 
what  is  more  astonishing,  Sherlock, t  who  has  much 
better  sense,  and  much  less  of  the  Popish  confessor, 
has  been  running  a  race  with  him  for  the  old  ladies, 
and  has  written  a  pastoral  letter,  of  which  ten  thousand 
were  sold  in  two  days  ;  and  fifty  thousand  have  been 
subscribed  for,  since  the  two  first  editions. 

"  I  told  you  the  women  talked  of  going  out  of  town  : 
several   families   are   literally   gone,    and    many   more 

*  Afterwards  Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  Walpole  had  a  strong 
and  unreasonable  prejudice  against  him. 

+  Thomas  Sherlock,  Master  of  the  Temple  ;  first,  Bishop  cf 
.Salisbury,  and  afterwards  of  London. —  Walfole. 


The  Earthquake.  Af'J 

going  to-day  and  to-morrow ;  for  what  adds  to  the 
absurdity  is,  that  the  second  shock  having  happened 
exactly  a  month  after  the  former,  it  prevails  that  there 
will  be  a  third  on  Thursday  next,  another  month,  which 
is  to  swallow  up  London.  I  am  almost  ready  to  burn 
my  letter  now  I  have  begun  it,  lest  you  should  think  I 
am  laughing  at  you :  but  it  is  so  true,  that  Arthur  of 
White's  told  me  last  night,  that  he  should  put  off  the 
last  ridotto,  which  was  to  be  on  Thursday,  because  he 
hears  nobody  would  come  to  it.  I  have  advised  several 
who  are  going  to  keep  their  next  earthquake  in  the 
countr}'^,  to  take  the  bark  for  it,  as  it  is  so  periodic. 
Dick  Leveson  and  Mr.  Rigby,  who  had  supped  and 
stayed  late  at  Bedford  House  the  other  night,  knocked 
at  several  doors,  and  in  a  watchman's  voice  cried, 
'  Past  four  o'clock,  and  a  dreadful  earthquake  !'  But  I 
have  done  with  this  ridiculous  panic :  two  pages  were 
too  much  to  talk  of  it.  .  .  . 

"  I  had  not  time  to  finish  my  letter  on  Monday.  I 
return  to  the  earthquake,  which  I  had  mistaken ;  it  is 
to  be  to-day.  This  frantic  terror  prevails  so  much, 
that  within  these  three  days  seven  hundred  and  thirty 
coaches  have  been  counted  passing  Hyde  Park  Corner, 
with  whole  parties  removing  into  the  country.  Here  is 
a  good  advertisement  which  I  cut  out  of  the  papers  to- 
day ; 

"  '  On  Monday  next  will  be  published  (price  6^.)  A  true  and  exact 
List  cf  all  the  Nobility  and  Gentry  who  have  left,  or  shall  leave, 
this  place  through  fear  of  another  Earthquake.' 

'*  Several  women  have  made  earthquake  gowns  ;  that 


48  The  Earthquake. 

is,  warm  gowns  to  sit  out  of  doors  all  to-night.  These 
are  of  the  more  courageous.  One  woman,  still  more 
heroic,  is  come  to  town  on  purpose  ;  she  says,  all  her 
friends  are  in  London,  and  she  will  not  survive  them. 
But  what  will  you  think  of  Lady  Catherine  Pelham, 
Lady  Frances  Arundel,  and  Lord  and  Lady  Galway, 
who  go  this  evening  to  an  inn  ten  miles  out  of  town, 
where  they  are  to  play  at  brag  till  five  in  the  morning, 
and  then  come  back — I  suppose,  to  look  for  the  bones 
of  their  husbands  and  families  under  the  rubbish  ?  The 
prophet  of  all  this  (next  to  the  Bishop  of  London)  is  a 
trooper  of  Lord  Delawar's,  who  was  yesterday  sent  to 
Bedlam.  His  colonel  sent  to  the  man's  wife,  and  asked 
her  if  her  husband  had  ever  been  disordered  before. 
She  cried,  '  Oh  dear !  my  lord,  he  is  not  mad  now  ;  if 
your  lordship  would  but  get  any  sensible  man  to  examine 
him,  you  would  find  he  is  quite  in  his  right  mind.'   .  .  . 

"  I  did  not  doubt  but  you  would  be  diverted  with  the 
detail  of  absurdities  that  were  committed  after  the 
earthquake :  I  could  have  filled  more  paper  with  such 
relations,  if  I  had  not  feared  tiring  you.  We  have 
swarmed  with  sermons,  essays,  relations,  poems,  and 
exhortations  on  that  subject.  One  Stukel}^,  a  parson, 
has  accounted  for  it,  and  I  think  prettily,  by  electricity 
— but  that  is  the  fashionable  cause,  and  everj'thing  is 
resolved  into  electrical  appearances,  as  formerly  every- 
thing was  accounted  for  by  Descartes's  vortices,  and  Sir 
Isaac's  gravitation.  But  they  all  take  care,  after 
accounting  for  the  earthquake  sj^stematically,  to  assure 


Vauxhall.  49 

you  that  still  it  was  nothing  less  than  a  judgment.  Dr. 
Barton,  the  Rector  of  St.  Andrew's,  was  the  only 
sensible,  or  at  least  honest  divine,  upon  the  occasion. 
When  some  women  would  have  had  him  pray  to  them 
in  his  parish  church  against  the  intended  shock,  he 
excused  himself  on  having  a  great  cold.  '  And  besides,' 
said  he,  'you  may  go  to  St.  James's  Church;  the  Bishop 
of  Oxford  is  to  preach  there  all  night  about  earthquakes." 
Turner,  a  great  china-man,  at  the  corner  of  next  street, 
had  a  jar  cracked  by  the  shock :  he  originally  asked 
ten  guineas  for  the  pair  :  he  now  asks  twenty,  '  because 
it  is  the  only  jar  in  Europe  that  has  been  cracked  by 
an  earthquake.' " 

Not  long  after  the  earthquake,  we  find  Walpole 
engaged  in  a  frolic  at  Vauxhall,  though  in  the  best 
company,  Lady  Caroline  Petersham,  his  hostess  on  the 
occasion,  being  the  dashing  wife*  of  Lord  Petersham, 
eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Harrington,  who  had  been 
Secretary  of  State.  We  insert  Walpole's  history  of 
the  affair  for  the  reason  which  he  gives  for  telling  it. 
It  is  part  of  a  letter  to  George  Montagu.  After  a  jest 
about  the  habits  of  Buxton,  where  his  friend's  sister  was 
then  drinking  the  waters,  the  writer  proceeds  : 

'•'  As  jolly  and  as  abominable  a  life  as  she  may  have 
been  leading,  I  defy  all  her  enormities  to  equal  a  party 
of  pleasure  that  I  had  t'other  night.  I  shall  relate  it 
to  you  to  show  you  the  manners  of  the  age,  which  are 
always  as  entertaining  to  a  person  fifty  miles  off  as  to 

*  She  was  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Grafton, 


50  Vauxhall. 

one  born  an  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  the  time.  I 
had  a  card  from  Lady  Caroline  Petersham  to  go  with 
her  to  Vauxhall.  I  went  accordingly  to  her  house,  and 
found  her  and  the  little  Ashe,  or  the  Pollard  Ashe,  as 
they  call  her  ;  they  had  just  finished  their  last  layer  of 
red,  and  looked  as  handsome  as  crimson  could  make 
them.  .  .  .  We  issued  into  the  Mall  to  assemble  our 
company,  which  was  all  the  town,  if  we  could  get  it ; 
for  just  so  many  had  been  summoned,  except  Harry 
Vane,  whom  we  met  by  chance.  We  mustered  the 
Duke  of  Kingston,  whom  Lady  Caroline  says  she  has 
been  trying  for  these  seven  years  ;  but  alas  !  his  beauty 
is  at  the  fall  of  the  leaf;  Lord  March,  Mr.  Whitehed,  a 
pretty  Miss  Beauclerc,  and  a  very  foolish  Miss  Sparre. 
These  two  damsels  were  trusted  by  their  mothers  for 
the  first  time  of  their  lives  to  the  matronly  care  of  Lady 
Caroline.  As  we  sailed  up  the  Mall  with  all  our  colours 
Hying,  Lord  Petersham,*  with  his  hose  and  legs  twisted 
to  every  point  of  crossness,  strode  by  us  on  the  outside, 
and  repassed  again  on  the  return.  At  the  end  of  the 
Mall  she  called  to  him  ;  he  would  not  answer  :  she  gave 
a  familiar  spring,  and,  between  laugh  and  confusion, 
ran  up  to  him,  *  My  lord,  my  lord  !  why,  you  don't  see 
us  !'  We  advanced  at  a  little  distance,  not  a  little 
awkward  in  expectation  how  all  this  would  end,  for  my 
ord  never  stirred  his  hat,  or  took  the  least  notice  of 
anybody :  she  said,  *  Do  you  go  with  us,  or  are  you 
going  anywhere  else  ?^ — '  I  don't  go  with  you,  I  am  going 
somewhere  else ;'  and  away  he  stalked,  as  sulky  as  a 
*  His  gait  was  so  singular,  that  he  was  called  Peter  Shamble. 


Vatixhall.  5  r 

ghost  that  nobody  will  speak  to  first.  We  got  into  the 
best  order  we  could,  and  marched  to  our  barge,  with 
a  boat  of  French  horns  attending,  and  little  Ashe 
singing.  We  paraded  some  time  up  the  river,  and  at 
last  debarked  at  Vauxhall :  there,  if  we  had  so  pleased, 
we  might  have  had  the  vivacity  of  our  party  increased 
by  a  quarrel ;  for  a  Mrs.  Lloyd,*  who  is  supposed  to  be 
married  to  Lord  Haddington,  seeing  the  two  girls 
following  Lady  Petersham  and  Miss  Ashe,  said  aloud, 
*  Poor  girls,  I  am  sorry  to  see  them  in  such  bad  com- 
pany !'  Miss  Sparre,  who  desired  nothing  so  much  as 
the  fun  of  seeing  a  duel — a  thing  which,  though  she  is 
fifteen,  she  has  never  been  so  lucky  as  to  see, — took  due 
pains  to  make  Lord  March  resent  this  ;  but  he,  who  is 
very  lively  and  agreeable,  laughed  her  out  of  this 
charming  frolic  with  a  great  deal  of  humour.  Here  we 
picked  up  Lord  Granby.  ...  If  all  the  adventures 
don't  conclude  as  you  expect  in  the  beginning  of  a 
paragraph,  you  must  not  wonder,  for  I  am  not  making 
a  histor}^,  but  relating  one  strictly  as  it  happened,  and  I 
think  with  full  entertainment  enough  to  content  you.  At 
last,  we  assembled  in  our  booth,  Lady  Caroline  in  the 
front,  with  the  vizor  of  her  hat  erect,  and  looking 
gloriously  jolly  and  handsome.  She  had  fetched  my 
brother  Orford  from  the  next  box,  where  he  was  enjoy- 
ing himself  with  his  petiie  partie,  to  help  us  to  mince 
chickens.  We  minced  seven  chickens  into  a  china 
dish,  which  Lady  Caroline  stewed  over  a  lamp  with 

*  Mrs.  Lloyd  of  Spring  Gardens,  to  whom  the  Earl  of  Iladding- 
toa  was  married  this  yea>:. 

4—2 


5  2  Vmtxhall. 

three  pats  of  batter  and  a  flagon  of  water,  stirring,  and 
rattling,  and  laughing,  and  we  every  minute  expecting 
to  have  the  dish  fly  about  our  ears.  She  had  brought 
Betty,  the  fruit-girl,  with  hampers  of  strawberries  and 
cherries  from  Rogers's,  and  made  her  wait  upon  us,  and 
then  made  her  sup  by  us  at  a  little  table.  The  conver- 
sation was  no  less  lively  than  the  whole  transaction. 
There  was  a  Mr.  O'Brien  arrived  from  Ireland,  who 
would  get  the  Duchess  of  Manchester  from  Mr.  Hussey,* 
if  she  were  still  at  liberty.  I  took  up  the  biggest  hautboy 
in  the  dish,  and  said  to  Lady  Caroline,  '  Madam,  Miss 
Ashe  desires  you  would  eat  this  O'Brien  strawberry ;' 
she  replied  immediately,  '  I  won't,  you  hussey.'  You 
may  imagine  the  laugh  this  reply  occasioned.  After 
the  tempest  was  a  little  calmed,  the  Pollard  said, 
'  Now,  how  anybody  would  spoil  this  story  that  was  to 
repeat  it,  and  say,  I  won't,  you  jade  !'  In  short,  the 
whole  air  of  our  party  was  sufficient,  as  you  will  easily 
imagine,  to  take  up  the  whole  attention  of  the  garden  ; 
so  much  so,  that  from  eleven  o'clock  till  half  an  hour 
after  one  we  had  the  whole  concourse  round  our  booth : 
at  last,  they  came  into  the  little  gardens  of  each  booth 
on  the  sides  of  ours,  till  Harry  Vane  took  up  a  bumper, 
and  drank  their  healths,  and  was  proceeding  to  treat 
them  with  still  greater  freedom.  It  was  three  o'clock 
before  we  got  home." 

Our  next  extract  displays  even  better  than  the  last 

*  An  Irish  adventurer,  whose  fine  person  had  induced  the 
Dowager  Duchess  of  Manchester  to  marry  him.  He  was  after- 
wards created  Earl  of  Beaulieu.  O'Brien,  it  seems,  was  even  taller 
ihan  Hussey. 


A  Hoiiscbixakcr. 


5.3 


our  author's  skill  in  telling  a  story.      It  also  contains 
some  pleasant  references  to  his  life  at  Strawberry  Hill : 

"  I  have  just  been  in  Londoi;  for  two  or  three  days, 
to  fetch  an  adventure,  and  am  returned  to  my  hill  and 
my  castle.  I  can't  say  I  lost  my  labour,  as  you  shall 
hear.  Last  Sunday  night,  being  as  wet  a  night  as  you 
shall  see  in  a  summer's  day,  about  half  an  hour  after 
twelve,  I  was  just  come  home  from  White's,  and  un- 
dressing to  step  into  bed,  when  I  heard  Harry,  who  you 
know  lies  forwards,  roar  out,  'Stop  thief!'  and  run 
down  stairs.  I  ran  after  him.  Don't  be  frightened  ;  I 
have  not  lost  one  enamel,  nor  bronze,  nor  have  been 
shot  through  the  hea^jl  again,  A  gentlewoman,  who 
lives  at  Governor  Pitt's,  next  door  but  one  to  me,  and 
where  Mr.  Bentley  used  to  live,  was  going  to  bed  too, 
and  heard  people  breaking  into  Mr.  Freeman's  house, 
who,  like  some  acquaintance  of  mine  in  Albemarle 
Street,  goes  out  of  town,  locks  up  his  doors,  and  leaves 
the  community  to  watch  his  furniture.  N.B.  It  was 
broken  open  but  two  years  ago,  and  I  and  all  the  chair- 
men vow  they  shall  steal  his  house  away  another  time, 
before  we  wdll  trouble  our  heads  about  it.  Well, 
madam  called  out  '  Watch !'  two  men,  who  were 
sentinels,  ran  away,  and  Harry's  voice  after  them. 
Down  came  I,  and  with  a  posse  of  chairmen  and 
watchmen  found  the  third  fellow  in  the  area  of  Mr. 
Freeman's  house.  Mayhap  you  have  seen  all  this  in 
the  papers,  little  thinking  who  commanded  the  detach- 
ment. Harry  fetched  a  blunderbuss  to  invite  the  thief 
up.       One    of  the    chairmen,   who    was    drunk,    cried. 


54  ^  Housebreaker. 

*  Give  me  the  blunderbuss,  I'll  shoot  him  !'  But  as  the 
general's  head  was  a  little  cooler,  he  prevented  military 
execution;  and  took  the  prisoner,  without  bloodshed, 
intending  to  make  his  triumphal  entry  into  the  metro- 
polis of  Twickenham  with  his  captive  tied  to  the  wheels 
of  his  post-chaise.  I  find  my  style  rises  so  much  with 
the  recollection  of  my  victory,  that  I  don't  know  how 
to  descend  to  tell  you  that  the  enemy  was  a  carpenter, 
and  had  a  leather  apron  on.  The  next  step  was  to 
share  my  glory  with  my  friends.  I  despatched  a  courier 
to  White's  for  George  Selwyn,  who,  you  know,  loves 
nothing  upon  earth  so  well  as  a  criminal,  except  the 
execution  of  him.  It  happened  very  luckily  that  the 
drawer,  who  received  my  message,  has  very  lately  been 
robbed  himself,  and  had  the  wound  fresh  in  his  memory. 
He  stalked  up  into  the  club-room,  stopped  short,  and 
with  a  hollow  trembling  voice  said,  '  Mr.  Selwyn  !  Mr. 
Walpole's  compliments  to  you,  and  he  has  got  a  house- 
breaker for  you  !'  A  squadron  immediately  came  to 
reinforce  me,  and  having  summoned  Moreland  with 
the  keys  of  the  fortress,  we  marched  into  the  house  to 
search  for  more  of  the  gang.  Col,  Seabright  with  his 
sword  drawn  went  first,  and  then  I,  exactly  the  figure 
of  Robinson  Crusoe,  with  a  candle  and  lanthorn  in  my 
hand,  a  carbine  upon  my  shoulder,  my  hair  wet  and 
about  my  ears,  and  in  a  linen  night-gown  and  slippers. 
We  found  the  kitchen  shutters  forced,  but  not  finished  ; 
and  in  the  area  a  tremendous  bag  of  tools,  a  hammer 
large  enough  for  the  hand  of  a  Jael,  and  six  chisels  ! 
All   which    ophna   spolia,   as    there    was    no    temple    of 


Strawberry  Hill.  55 

Jupiter  Capitolinus  in  the  neighbourhood,  I  was  reduced 
to  offer  on  the  altar  of  Sir  Thomas  Clarges. 

"  I  am  now,  as  I  told  you,  returned  to  my  plough 
with  as  much  humility  and  pride  as  any  of  my  grea^ 
predecessors.  We  lead  quite  a  rural  life,  have  had  a 
sheep-shearing,  a  hay-making,  a  syllabub  under  the 
cow,  and  a  fishing  of  three  gold-fish  out  of  Poyang,* 
for  a  present  to  Madam  Clive.  They  breed  with  me 
excessively,  and  are  grown  to  the  size  of  small  perch. 
Everything  grows,  if  tempests  would  let  it ;  but  I  have 
had  two  of  my  largest  trees  broke  to-day  with  the  wind, 
and  another  last  week.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for 
the  flower  you  offer  me,  but  by  the  description  it  is  an 
Austrian  rose,  and  I  have  several  now  in  bloom.  Mr. 
Bentley  is  with  me,  finishing  the  drawings  for  Gray's 
Odes ;  there  are  some  mandarin-cats  fishing  for  gold- 
fish, which  will  delight  you.  .  .  . 

"  You  will  be  pleased  with  a  story  of  Lord  Bury,  that 
is  come  from  Scotland  :  he  is  quartered  at  Inverness ; 
the  magistrates  invited  him  to  an  entertainment  with 
fire-works,  which  they  intended  to  give  on  the  morrow 
for  the  Duke's  birth-day.  He  thanked  them,  assured 
them  he  would  represent  their  zeal  to  his  Royal  High- 
ness ;  but  he  did  not  doubt  it  would  be  more  agreeable 
to  him,  if  they  postponed  it  to  the  day  following,  the 
anniversary  of  the  battle  of  CuUoden.  They  stared, 
said  they  could  not  promise  on  their  own  authority,  but 
would  go  and  consult  their  body.     They  returned,  told 

*  Walpole  had  given  this  Chinese  name  to  a  pond  of  gold-fish  at 
Strawberry  Hill. 


56  Strawberry  Hill. 

him  it  was  unprecedented,  and  could  not  be  complied 
with.  Lord  Bury  replied,  he  was  sorry  they  had  not 
given  a  negative  at  once,  for  he  had  mentioned  it  to  his 
soldiers,  who  would  not  bear  a  disappointment,  and  was 
afraid  it  would  provoke  them  to  some  outrage  upon  the 
town.     This  did ; — they  celebrated  Culloden.  .  .  ." 

A  few  years  later  Strawberry  Hill  had  attained  its 
greatest  celebrity.     In  June,  1759,  Walpole  writes  : 

"  Strawberry  Hill  is  grown  a  perfect  Paphos  ;  it  is  the 
land  of  beauties.  On  Wednesday  the  Duchesses  of 
Hamilton  and  Richmond,  and  Lady  Ailesbury  dined 
there ;  the  two  latter  stayed  all  night.  There  never 
was  so  pretty  a  sight  as  to  see  them  all  three  sitting  in 
the  shell ;  a  thousand  years  hence,  when  I  begin  to 
grow  old,  if  that  can  ever  be,  I  shall  talk  of  that  event, 
and  tell  young  people  how  much  handsomer  the  women 
of  my  time  were  than  they  will  be  then  :  I  shall  say, 
'  Women  alter  now  ;  I  remember  Lady  Ailesbury  look- 
ing handsomer  than  her  daughter,  the  pretty  Duchess 
of  Richmond,  as  they  were  sitting  in  the  shell  on  my 
terrace  with  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton,  one  of  the 
famous  Gunnings.'  Yesterday  t'other  more  famous 
Gunning  [Lady  Coventry]  dined  there.  She  has  made 
a  friendship  with  my  charming  niece,  to  disguise  her 
jealousy  of  the  new  Countess's  beauty:  there  were  they 
two,  their  lords,  Lord  Buckingham,  and  Charlotte. 
You  will  think  that  I  did  not  choose  men  for  my  parties 
so  well  as  women.  I  don't  include  Lord  Waldegrave  in 
this  bad  election." 


The  Gunnings.  57 

The  famous  Gunnings  referred  to  in  the  last  passage 
figure  often  in  Walpole's  letters.  These  two  ladies  were 
the  daughters  of  Irish  parents,  and  though  of  noble 
blood  on  the  mother's  side,  are  said  to  have  been 
originally  so  poor  that  they  had  thought  of  being 
actresses ;  and  when  they  were  first  presented  at 
Dublin  Castle,  they  were  supplied  with  clothes  for  the 
occasion  by  Mrs.  Woflington,  the  actress.  On  their 
arrival  in  England,  their  beauty  created  such  an  im- 
pression, that  they  were  followed  by  crowds  in  the 
Park  and  at  Vauxhall.  We  even  read  that  Maria,  the 
elder,  some  years  after  her  marriage,  having  been 
mobbed  in  the  Park,  was  attended  by  a  guard  of 
soldiers.  Maria  married  the  Earl  of  Coventry,  and 
died  many  years  before  her  husband.  Her  younger 
sister,  Elizabeth,  who  was  reckoned  the  less  beautiful 
of  the  two,  married,  first,  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  and, 
secondly.  Colonel  John  Campbell,  afterwards  Duke  of 
Argyll,  for  whom  she  had  refused  the  Duke  of  Bridge- 
water.  The  penniless  Irish  girl,  Elizabeth  Gunning, 
was  the  mother  of  two  Dukes  of  Hamilton  and  two 
Dukes  of  Argyll.  Walpole's  niece,  of  whom  he  sug- 
gests Lady  Coventry  was  jealous,  was  a  natural 
daughter  of  his  brother.  Sir  Edward  Walpole,  and 
was  then  the  bride  of  the  Earl  of  Waldegrave,  after 
whose  death  she  became  Duchess  of  Gloucester,  by 
a  clandestine  marriage  with  George  III.'s  younger 
brother.  By  her  first  husband  she  had  three  daughters, 
the  Ladies  Waldegrave,  whose  portraits,  by  Reynolds, 
are  included  in  this  volume. 


58  Ossiafi. 

Before  we  leave  that  portion  of  Horace  Wal- 
pole's  correspondence  which  belongs  to  the  reign  of 
George  II.,  we  will  give  one  letter  of  a  character  dif- 
ferent from  those  we  have  previously  selected.  It  is 
addressed  to  Sir  David  Dalrymple,  afterwards  Lord 
Hailes,  and  deals  entirely  with  literary  subjects.  The 
"  Irish  poems"  referred  to  in  it  are,  of  course,  the  first 
fragments  of  "  Ossian,"  then  recently  published  by 
Macpherson  : 

"  Strawberry  Hill,  April  4,  1760. 

"  As  I  have  very  little  at  present  to  trouble  you  with 
myself,  I  should  have  deferred  writing  till  a  better 
opportunity,  if  it  were  not  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  a 
friend ;  a  friend  whom  you.  Sir,  will  be  glad  to  have 
made  curious,  as  you  originally  pointed  him  out  as  a 
likely  person  to  be  charmed  with  the  old  Irish  poetry 
you  sent  me.  It  is  Mr.  Gray,  who  is  an  enthusiast 
about  those  poems,  and  begs  me  to  put  the  following 
queries  to  you  ;  which  I  will  do  in  his  own  words,  and  I 
may  say  truly,  Poeta  loquitur. 

"  '  I  am  so  charmed  with  the  two  specimens  of 
Erse  poetry,  that  I  cannot  help  giving  you  the  trouble 
to  inquire  a  little  farther  about  them,  and  should  wish 
to  see  a  few  lines  of  the  original,  that  I  may  form 
some  slight  idea  of  the  language,  the  measures,  and 
the  rhythm. 

"  '  Is  there  anything  known  of  the  author  or  authors, 
and  of  what  antiquity  are  they  supposed  to  be  ? 

"  *  Is  there  any  more  to  be  had  of  equal  beauty,  or  at 
all  approaching  to  it  ? 


Ossian.  59 

**  *  I  have  been  often  told,  that  the  poem  called 
Hardykanute*  (which  I  always  admired  and  still 
admire)  was  the  work  of  somebody  that  lived  a  few 
years  ago.  This  I  do  not  at  all  believe,  though  it  has 
evidently  been  retouched  in  places  by  some  modern 
hand ;  but,  however,  I  am  authorised  by  this  report  to 
ask,  whether  the  two  poems  in  question  are  certainly 
antique  and  genuine.  I  make  this  inquiry  in  quality  of 
an  antiquary,  and  am  not  otherwise  concerned  about 
it ;  for  if  I  were  sure  that  anyone  now  living  in 
Scotland  had  written  them,  to  divert  himself  and 
laugh  at  the  credulity  of  the  world,  I  would  undertake 
a  journey  into  the  Highlands  only  for  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him.' 

"  You  see.  Sir,  how  easily  you  may  make  our  greatest 
southern  bard  travel  northward  to  visit  a  brother.  The 
young  translator  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  own  a  forgery, 
and  Mr.  Gray  is  ready  to  pack  up  his  lyre,  saddle 
Pegasus,  and  set  out  directly.  But  seriously,  he,  Mr. 
Mason,  my  Lord  Lyttelton,  and  one  or  two  more, 
whose  taste  the  world  allows,  are  in  love  with  your 
Erse  elegies :  I  cannot  say  in  general  they  are  so  much 
admired — but  Mr.  Gray  alone  is  worth  satisfying. 

"The  '  Siege  of  Aquileia,'  of  which  you  ask,  pleased 
less  than  Mr.  Home's  other  plays. t    In  my  own  opinion, 

*  It  was  written  by  Mrs.  Halket  of  Wardlaw.  Mr.  Lockhart 
states,  that  on  the  blank  leaf  of  his  copy  of  Allan  Ramsay's  "  Ever- 
green," Sir  Walter  Scott  has  written,  "  Hardyknute  was  the  first 
poem  that  I  ever  learnt,  the  last  that  I  shall  forget." 

t  The  "Siege  of  Aquileia,"  a  tragedy,  by  John  Home,  produced 
at  Drury  Lane,  21st  February,  1760. 


6o  Sterne, 

'  Douglas  '  far  exceeds  both  the  others.  Mr.  Home 
seems  to  have  a  beautiful  talent  for  painting  genuine 
nature  and  the  manners  of  his  country.  There  was  so 
little  of  nature  in  the  manners  of  both  Greeks  and 
Romans,  that  I  do  not  wonder  at  his  success  being  less 
brilHant  when  he  tried  those  subjects  ;  and,  to  say  the 
truth,  one  is  a  little  weary  of  them.  At  present,  nothing 
is  talked  of,  nothing  admired,  but  what  I  cannot  help 
calling  a  very  insipid  and  tedious  performance  :  it  is  a 
kind  of  novel,  called  '  The  Life  and  Opinions  of  Tris- 
tram Shandy ;'  the  great  humour  of  which  consists  in 
the  whole  narration  always  going  backwards.  I  can 
conceive  a  man  saying  that  it  would  be  droll  to  write 
a  book  in  that  manner,  but  have  no  notion  of  his  perse- 
vering in  executing  it.  It  makes  one  smile  two  or  three 
times  at  the  beginning,  but  in  recompense  makes  one 
yawn  for  two  hours.  The  characters  are  tolerably  kept 
up,  but  the  humour  is  for  ever  attempted  and  missed. 
The  best  thing  in  it  is  a  Sermon,  oddly  coupled  with  a 
good  deal  of  indecency,  and  both  the  composition  of 
a  clergyman.  The  man's  head,  indeed,  was  a  little 
turned  before,  now  topsy-turvy  with  his  success  and 
fame.  Dodsley  has  given  him  six  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  for  the  second  edition  and  two  more  volumes 
(which  I  suppose  will  reach  backwards  to  his  great- 
great-grandfather)  ;  Lord  Fauconberg,  a  donative*  of 
one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds  a  year;  and  Bishop  War- 
burton  gave  him  a  purse  of  gold  and  this  compliment 
(which  happened  to  be  a  contradiction),  'that  it  was 
*  The  living  of  Coxvvold,  in  Yorkshire. 


y  ^///'/v'///v     -Jtr/'z/r 


Sterne.  6 1 

quite  an  original  composition,  and  in  the  true  Cervantic 
vein  :'  the  only  copy  that  ever  was  an  original,  except  in 
painting,  where  they  all  pretend  to  be  so.  Warburton, 
however,  not  content  with  this,  recommended  the  book 
to  the  bench  of  bishops,  and  told  them  Mr.  Sterne,  the 
author,  was  the  English  Rabelais.  They  had  never 
heard  of  such  a  writer.     Adieu  1" 


62  A  New  Reign, 


CHAPTER  III. 

Anew  reign. — Funeral  of  the  late  King. — Houghton  revisited. — 
Election  at  Lynn. — Marriage  of  George  the  Third. — His  Corona- 
tion. 

The  accession  of  George  III.  was  the  beginning 
of  a  new  era  in  English  society.  The  character  of 
George  II.  could  inspire  no  respect.  His  successor, 
with  all  his  faults,  did  as  much  perhaps  towards 
reforming  the  manners  of  the  higher  classes  as  a  more 
enlightened  prince  could  have  effected.  His  regular 
life  and  the  strictness  of  his  Court  applied  a  pressure 
answering  to  that  which  grew  daily  stronger  from  below. 
The  chief  want  of  the  aristocracy  at  this  time  was  not 
so  much  culture  as  something  more  vitally  important. 
Culture  they  did,  indeed,  sorely  lack,  but  many  in- 
fluences among  themselves  were  tending  to  promote 
this.  What  they  mainly  needed  to  have  enforced  upon 
them  from  without  was  some  regard  to  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  social  order,  some  recognition  of  moral  and 
religious  obligations.  Those  who  despise  the  formal- 
ism of  George  III.'s  reign,  may  reflect  that  to  impose 
external  decorum  on  the  society  represented  in  Hogarth's 
•pictures  was  of  itself  no  trifling  improvement.     Even 


A  New  Reign.  63 

this  was  some  time  in  coming.  It  was  retarded  by  the 
mistaken  system  of  government  which  for  a  long  while 
rendered  the  Crown  unpopular.  Still  the  signs  of  a 
change  for  the  better  gradually  became  apparent ;  and 
when  the  close  of  the  American  War  had  removed  the 
last  subject  of  national  discontent,  the  great  majority  of 
the  upper,  as  well  as  of  the  middle  ranks,  rallied  round 
the  throne  as  the  mainstay  of  public  morality,  sup- 
porting the  King  and  the  sedate  minister  of  his  choice 
against  a  rival  whose  irregularities  recalled  the  disorders 
of  a  former  time. 

We  give  the  letter  in  which  Walpole  describes  the 
funeral  of  George  II.  It  should  be  stated  that  the 
writer  did  not  long  retain  the  favourable  opinion  he 
here  expresses  of  the  new  Sovereign  : 

"Arlington  Street,  Nov.  13,  1760. 
"  Even  the  honeymoon  of  a  new  reign  don't  produce 
events  every  day.  There  is  nothing  but  the  common 
saying  of  addresses  and  kissing  hands.  The  chief  diffi- 
culty is  settled ;  Lord  Gower  yields  the  Mastership  of 
the  Horse  to  Lord  Huntingdon,  and  removes  to  the 
Great  Wardrobe,  from  whence  Sir  Thomas  Robinson 
was  to  have  gone  into  Ellis's  place,  but  he  is  saved. 
The  City,  however,  have  a  mind  to  be  out  of  humour; 
a  paper  has  been  fixed  on  the  Royal  Exchange,  with 
these  words,  '  No  petticoat  Government,  no  Scotch 
Minister,  no  Lord  George  Sackville ;'  two  hints  totally 
unfounded,  and  the  other  scarce  true.  No  petticoat 
ever  governed  less,  it  is  left  at  Leicester-house  ;  Lord 
George's  breeches  are  as  little  concerned  ;  and,  except 


64  Ftmeral  of  the  late  King. 

Lady  Susan  Stuart  and  Sir  Harry  Erskine,  nothing  has 
yet  been  done  for  any  Scots.  For  the  King  himself,  he 
seems  all  good-nature,  and  wishing  to  satisfy  every- 
body ;  all  his  speeches  are  obliging.  I  saw  him  again 
yesterday,  and  was  surprised  to  find  the  levee-room  had 
lost  so  entirely  the  air  of  the  lion's  den.  This  Sove- 
reign don't  stand  in  one  spot,  with  his  eyes  fixed  royally 
on  the  ground,  and  dropping  bits  of  German  news  ;  he 
walks  about,  and  speaks  to  everybody.  I  saw  him 
afterwards  on  the  throne,  where  he  is  graceful  and 
genteel,  sits  with  dignity,  and  reads  his  answers  to 
addresses  well ;  it  was  the  Cambridge  address,  carried 
by  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  in  his  Doctor's  gown,  and 
looking  like  the  Medecin  nialgre  lui.  He  had  been  vehe- 
mently solicitous  for  attendance,  for  fear  my  Lord 
Westmoreland,  who  vouchsafes  himself  to  bring  the 
address  from  Oxford,  should  outnumber  him.  Lord 
Lichfield  and  several  other  Jacobites  have  kissed 
hands  ;  George  Selwyn  says,  '  They  go  to  St  James's, 
because  now  there  are  so  many  Stuarts  there.' 

"  Do  you  know,  I  had  the  curiosity  to  go  to  the  bury- 
ing t'other  night ;  I  had  never  seen  a  royal  funeral ; 
nay,  I  walked  as  a  rag  of  quality,  which  I  found  would 
be,  and  so  it  was,  the  easiest  way  of  seeing  it.  It  is 
absolutely  a  noble  sight.  The  Prince's  chamber,  hung 
with  purple,  and  a  quantity  of  silver  lamps,  the  coffin 
under  a  canopy  of  purple  velvet,  and  six  vast  chande- 
liers of  silver  on  high  stands,  had  a  very  good  effect. 
The  Ambassador  from  Tripoli  and  his  son  were  carried 
to  see  that  chamber.     The  procession,  through  a  line 


F2meral  of  the  late  King.  65 

of  foot-guards,  every  seventh  man  bearing  a  torch,  the 
horse-guards  lining  the  outside,  their  officers  with  drawn 
sabres  and  crape  sashes  on  horseback,  the  drums  muffled, 
the  fifes,  bells  tolHng,  and  minute-guns, — all  this  was 
very  solemn.  But  the  charm  was  the  entrance  of  the 
Abbey,  where  we  were  received  by  the  Dean  and 
Chapter  in  rich  robes,  the  choir  and  almsmen  bearing 
torches  ;  the  whole  Abbey  so  illuminated,  that  one  saw 
it  to  greater  advantage  than  by  day ;  the  tombs,  long 
aisles,  and  fretted  roof,  all  appearing  distinctly,  and 
with  the  happiest  chiaroscttro.  There  wanted  nothing 
but  incense,  and  little  chapels  here  and  there,  with 
priests  saying  mass  for  the  repose  of  the  defunct ;  yet 
one  could  not  complain  of  its  not  being  catholic  enough. 
I  had  been  in  dread  of  being  coupled  with  some  boy  of 
ten  years  old ;  but  the  heralds  were  not  very  accurate, 
and  I  walked  with  George  Grenville,  taller  and  older,  to 
keep  me  in  countenance.  When  we  came  to  the  chapel 
of  Henry  the  Seventh,  all  solemnity  and  decorum  ceased ; 
no  order  was  observed,  people  sat  or  stood  where  they 
could  or  would ;  the  yeomen  of  the  guard  were  crying 
out  for  help,  oppressed  by  the  immense  weight  of  the 
coffin  ;  the  Bishop  read  sadly,  and  blundered  in  the 
prayers ;  the  fine  chapter,  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman, 
was  chanted,  not  read  ;  and  the  anthem,  besides  being 
immeasurably  tedious,  would  have  served  as  well  for  a 
nuptial.  The  real  serious  part  was  the  figure  of  the 
Duke  of  Cumberland,  heightened  by  a  thousand  melan- 
choly circumstances.  He  had  a  dark  brown  adonis, 
and  a  cloak  of  black  cloth,  with  a  train  of  five  yard?. 

5 


66  Funeral  of  the  late  King. 

Attending  the  funeral  of  a  father  could  not  be  pleasant: 
his  leg  extremely  bad,  yet  forced  to  stand  upon  it  near 
two  hours ;  his  face  bloated  and  distorted  with  his  late 
paralytic  stroke,  which  has  affected,  too,  one  of  his  eyes, 
and  placed  over  the  mouth  of  the  vault,  into  which,  in 
all  probability,  he  must  himself  so  soon  descend  ;  think 
how  unpleasant  a  situation  !  He  bore  it  all  with  a  firm 
and  unaffected  countenance.  This  grave  scene  was 
fully  contrasted  by  the  burlesque  Duke  of  Newcastle. 
He  fell  into  a  fit  of  crying  the  moment  he  came  into  the 
chapel,  and  flung  himself  back  in  a  stall,  the  Archbishop 
hovering  over  him  with  a  smelling-bottle ;  but  in  two 
minutes  his  curiosity  got  the  better  of  his  hypocrisy,  and 
he  ran  about  the  chapel  with  his  glass  to  spy  who  was 
or  was  not  there,  spying  vath  one  hand,  and  mopping 
his  eyes  with  the  other.  Then  returned  the  fear  of 
catching  cold  ;  and  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  who  was 
sinking  with  heat,  felt  himself  weighed  down,  and  turn- 
ing round,  found  it  was  the  Duke  of  Newcastle  standing 
upon  his  train,  to  avoid  the  chill  of  the  marble.  It 
was  very  theatric  to  look  down  into  the  vault  where  the 
coffin  lay,  attended  by  mourners  with  lights.  Claver- 
ing,  the  groom  of  the  bedchamber,  refused  to  sit  up 
with  the  body,  and  was  dismissed  by  the  King's  order." 

The  demise  of  the  Crown,  of  course,  dissolved  Parlia- 
ment. Horace  Walpole  went  down  to  Houghton  to  be 
re-elected  for  Lynn : 

"Houghton,  March  25,  1761. 

**  Here  I  am  at  Houghton !  and  alone  !  in  this  spot, 
where  (except  two  hours  last  month)  I  have  not  been  in 


Houghton  Revisited.  67 

sixteen  years !  Think,  what  a  crowd  of  reflections  f 
No  ;  Gray,  and  forty  churchyards,  could  not  furnish  so 
many ;  nay,  I  know  one  must  feel  them  with  greater 
indifference  than  I  possess,  to  have  patience  to  put 
them  into  verse.  Here  I  am,  probably  for  the  last  time 
of  my  life,  though  not  for  the  last  time :  every  clock 
that  strikes  tells  me  I  am  an  hour  nearer  to  yonder 
church — that  church,  into  which  I  have  not  yet  had 
courage  to  enter,  where  lies  that  mother  on  whom  I 
doated,  and  who  doated  on  me  !  There  are  the  two 
rival  mistresses  of  Houghton,  neither  of  whom  ever 
wished  to  enjoy  it !  There  too  lies  he  who  founded  its 
greatness,  to  contribute  to  whose  fall  Europe  was 
embroiled ;  there  he  sleeps  in  quiet  and  dignity,  while 
his  friend  and  his  foe,  rather  his  false  ally  and  real 
enemy,  Newcastle  and  Bath,  are  exhausting  the  dregs 
of  their  pitiful  lives  in  squabbles  and  pamphlets.* 

**  The  surprise  the  pictures  gave  me  is  again  renewed ; 
accustomed  for  many  years  to  see  nothing  but  wretched 
daubs  and  varnished  copies  at  auctions,  I  look  at  these 
as  enchantment.  My  own  description  of  them  seems 
poor ;  but  shall  I  tell  you  truly,  the  majesty  of  Italian 
ideas  almost  sinks  before  the  warm  nature  of  Flemish 
colouring.  Alas !  don't  I  grow  old  ?  I\Iy  young 
imagination  was  fired  with  Guido's  ideas :  must  they 
be  plump  as  Abishag  to  warm  me  now  ?     Does  great 

*  "  My  flatterers  here  are  all  mutes.  The  oalcs,  the  beeches,  the 
chestnuts,  seem  to  contend  which  best  shall  please  the  Lord  of  the 
Manor.  They  cannot  deceive,  they  will  not  lie." — Sir  Robert  Wal- 
pole  to  General  Cliurchill,  Houf^hton,  June  24th,  1743. 


63  Hough/ on  Rev  is  i led. 

5'outh  feel  with  poetic  limbs,  as  well  as  see  with  poetic 
eyes  ?  In  one  respect  I  am  very  young,  I  cannot 
satiate  myself  with  looking  :  an  incident  contributed  to 
make  me  feel  this  more  strongly.  A  party  arrived,  just 
as  I  did,  to  see  the  house,  a  man  and  three  women  in 
riding-dresses,  and  they  rode  post  through  the  apart- 
ments. I  could  not  hurry  before  them  fast  enough  ; 
they  were  not  so  long  in  seeing  for  the  first  time,  as  I 
could  have  been  in  one  room,  to  examine  what  I  knew 
by  heart.  I  remember  formerly  being  often  diverted 
with  this  kind  of  seers;  they  come,  ask  what  such  a 
room  is  called,  in  which  Sir  Robert  lay,  write  it  dov.-n, 
admire  a  lobster  or  a  cabbage  in  a  market-piece,  dis- 
pute whether  the  last  room  was  green  or  purple,  and 
then  hurry  to  the  inn  for  fear  the  fish  should  be  over- 
dressed. How  different  my  sensations !  not  a  picture 
here  but  recalls  a  history ;  not  one,  but  I  remember  in 
Downing-street  or  Chelsea,  where  queens  and  crowds 
admired  them,  though  seeing  them  as  little  as  these 
travellers  ! 

"  When  I  had  drunk  tea,  I  strolled  into  the  garden  ; 
they  told  me  it  was  now  called  the  pleasure-ground. 
What  a  dissonant  idea  of  pleasure  !  those  groves,  those 
allies,  where  I  have  passed  so  many  charming  moments, 
are  now  stripped  up  or  overgrown — many  fond  paths  I 
could  not  unravel,  though  with  a  very  exact  clew  in  my 
memory :  I  met  two  gamekeepers,  and  a  thousand 
hares  !  In  the  days  when  all  my  soul  was  tuned  to 
pleasure  and  vivacity  (and  you  will  think,  perhaps,  it  is 
far  from  being  out  of  tune  yet),  I  hated  Houghton  and 


Houghton  Revisited.  69 

its  solitude  ;  yet  I  loved  this  garden,  as  now,  with  many 
regrets,  I  love  Houghton  :  Houghton,  I  know  not  what 
to  call  it,  a  monument  of  grandeur  or  ruin  !  How  I 
liave  wished  this  evening  for  Lord  Bute  !  how  I  could 
preach  to  him  !  For  myself,  I  do  not  want  to  be 
preached  to  ;  I  have  long  considered,  how  every  Balbec 
must  wait  for  the  chance  of  a  Mr.  Wood.  The  ser- 
vants wanted  to  lay  me  in  the  great  apartment — what, 
to  make  me  pass  my  night  as  I  have  done  my  evening  ! 
It  were  like  proposing  to  Margaret  Roper  to  be  a 
duchess  in  the  court  that  cut  off  her  father's  head,  and 
imagining  it  would  please  her.  I  have  chosen  to  sit  in 
my  father's  little  dressing-room,  and  am  now  by  hij 
scrutoire,  where,  in  the  height  of  his  fortune,  he  used  to 
receive  the  accounts  of  his  farmers,  and  deceive  himself, 
or  us,  with  the  thoughts  of  his  economy.  How  wise  a 
man  at  once,  and  how  weak  !  For  what  has  he  built 
Houghton  ?  for  his  grandson  to  annihilate,  or  for  his 
son  to  mourn  over.  If  Lord  Burleigh  could  rise  and 
view  his  representative  driving  the  Hatfield  stage,  he 
would  feel  as  I  feel  now.  Poor  little  Strawberry  !  at 
least,  it  will  not  be  stripped  to  pieces  by  a  descendant ! 
You  will  find  all  these  fine  meditations  dictated  by 
pride,  not  by  philosophy.  Pray  consider  through  how 
many  mediums  philosophy  must  pass,  before  it  is  puri- 
fied— 

" ' how  often  must  it  weep,  how  often  burn  !' 

**'  My  mind  was  extremely  prepared  for  all  this  gloom 
by  parting  with  Mr.  Conway  yesterday  morning  ;  moral 
reflections  or  commonplaces  are  the  livery  one  likes  to 


*jo  Election  at  Lynn. 

wear,  when  one  has  just  had  a  real  misfortune.  He  is 
going  to  Germany  :  I  was  glad  to  dress  myself  up  in 
transitory  Houghton,  in  lieu  of  very  sensible  concern. 
To-morrow  I  shall  be  distracted  with  thoughts,  at  least 
images  of  very  different  complexion.  I  go  to  Lynn,  and 
am  to  be  elected  on  Friday.  I  shall  return  hither  oa 
Saturday,  again  alone,  to  expect  Burleighides  on  Sunday, 
whom  I  left  at  Newmarket.  I  must  once  in  my  life 
see  him  on  his  grandfather's  throne. 

^'  Eppmg,  Monday  night,  thirty -first. — No,  I  have  not 
seen  him  ;  he  loitered  on  the  road,  and  I  was  kept  at 
Lynn  till  yesterday  morning.  It  is  plain  I  never  knew 
for  how  many  trades  I  was  formed,  when  at  this  time  of 
day  I  can  begin  electioneering,  and  succeed  in  my  new 
vocation.  Think  of  me,  the  subject  of  a  mob,  who  was 
scarce  ever  before  in  a  mob,  addressing  them  in  the 
town-hall,  riding  at  the  head  of  two  thousand  people 
through  such  a  town  as  Lynn,  dining  with  above  two 
hundred  of  them,  amid  bumpers,  huzzas,  songs,  and 
tobacco,  and  finishing  with  country  dancing  at  a  ball 
and  sixpenny  whist  !  I  have  borne  it  all  cheerfully  ; 
nay,  have  sat  hours  in  conversation,  the  thing  upon  earth 
that  I  hate ;  have  been  to  hear  misses  play  on  the 
harpsichord,  and  to  see  an  alderman's  copies  of  Rubens 
and  Carlo  Marat.  Yet  to  do  the  folks  justice,  they  are 
sensible,  and  reasonable,  and  civilised ;  their  very  lan- 
guage is  polished  since  I  lived  among  them.  I  attri- 
bute this  to  their  more  frequent  intercourse  with  the 
world  and  the  capital,  by  the  help  of  good  roads  and 
postchaises,  which,  if  they  have  abridged  the  King's 


Election  at  Lynn.  71 

dominions,  have  at  least  tamed  his  subjects.  Well, 
how  comfortable  it  will  be  to-morrow,  to  see  my 
parroquet,  to  play  at  loo,  and  not  be  obliged  to  talk 
seriously  !  The  Heraclitus  of  the  beginning  of  this 
letter  will  be  overjoyed  on  finishing  it  to  sign  himself 
your  old  friend, 

**  Democritus. 

"  P.S.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  my  ancient  aunt 
Hammond  came  over  to  Lynn  to  see  me ;  not  from 
any  affection,  but  curiosity.  The  first  thing  she  said 
to  me,  though  we  have  not  met  these  sixteen  years, 
was,  *  Child,  you  have  done  a  thing  to-day,  that  your 
father  never  did  in  all  his  life  ;  you  sat  as  they  carried 
you, — he  always  stood  the  whole  time.'  '  Madam,'  said 
I,  *  when  I  am  placed  in  a  chair,  I  conclude  I  am  to  sit 
in  it ;  besides,  as  I  cannot  imitate  my  father  in  great 
things,  I  am  not  at  all  ambitious  of  mimicking  him 
in  little  ones.'  I  am  sure  she  proposes  to  tell  her 
remarks  to  my  uncle  Horace's  ghost,  the  instant  they 
meet." 

The  King's  marriage  followed  a  few  months  later ; 
"Arlington  Street,  Sept.  lo,  1761. 

**  When  we  least  expected  the  Queen,  she  came, 
after  being  ten  days  at  sea,  but  without  sickness  for 
above  half-an-hour.  She  was  gay  the  whole  voyage, 
sung  to  her  harpsichord,  and  left  the  door  of  her  cabin 
open.  They  made  the  coast  of  Suffolk  last  Saturday, 
and  on  Monday  morning  she  landed  at  Harwich ; 
so   prosperously  has  Lord   Anson  executed   his   com- 


72  The  Royal  Marriage. 

mission.  She  lay  that  night  at  your  old  friend  Lord 
Abercorn's,  at  Witham  in  Essex  ;  and,  if  she  judged  by 
her  host,  must  have  thought  she  was  coming  to  reign  in 
the  realm  of  taciturnity.  She  arrived  at  St.  James's  a 
quarter  after  three  on  Tuesday  the  8th.  When  she 
first  saw  the  Palace  she  turned  pale  :  the  Duchess  of 
Hamilton  smiled.  '  My  dear  Duchess,'  said  the  Prin- 
cess, ^  yon  may  laugh;  you  have  been  married  twice ; 
but  it  is  no  joke  to  me.'  Is  this  a  bad  proof  of  her 
sense?  On  the  journey  they  wanted  her  to  curl  her 
toupet.  '  No,  indeed,'  said  she,  '  I  think  it  looks  as 
well  as  those  of  the  ladies  who  have  been  sent  for  me : 
if  the  King  would  have  me  wear  a  periwig,  I  will ;  other- 
wise I  shall  let  myself  alone.'  The  Duke  of  York  gave 
her  his  hand  at  the  garden-gate  :  her  lips  trembled,  but 
she  jumped  out  with  spirit.  In  the  garden  the  King 
met  her ;  she  would  have  fallen  at  his  feet ;  he  pre- 
vented and  embraced  her,  and  led  her  into  the  apart- 
ments, where  she  was  received  by  the  Princess  of 
Wales  and  Lady  Augusta :  these  three  princesses 
only  dined  with  the  King.  At  ten  the  procession  went 
to  chapel,  preceded  by  unmarried  daughters  of  peers, 
and  peeresses  in  plent}'.  The  new  Princess  was  led  by 
the  Duke  of  York  and  Prince  W^illiam  ;  the  Archbishop 
married  them ;  the  King  talked  to  her  the  whole  time 
with  great  good  humour,  and  the  Duke  of  Cumberland 
have  her  away.  She  is  not  tall,  nor  a  beaut}' ;  pale, 
and  very  thin  ;  but  looks  sensible,  and  is  genteel.  Her 
hair  is  darkish  and  fine ;  her  forehead  low,  her  nose 
very  well,  except  the  nostrils  spreading  too  wide ;  her 


The  Royal  Marriage.  73 

mouth  has  the  same  fault,  but  her  teeth  are  good.* 
She  talks  a  good  deal,  and  French  tolerably ;  possesses 
herself,  is  frank,  but  with  great  respect  to  the  King. 
After  the  ceremony,  the  whole  company  came  into  the 
drawing-room  for  about  ten  minutes,  but  nobody  was 
presented  that  night.  The  Queen  was  in  white  and 
silver ;  an  endless  mantle  of  violet-coloured  velvet, 
lined  with  ermine,  and  attempted  to  be  fastened  on 
her  shoulder  by  a  bunch  of  large  pearls,  dragged 
itself  and  almost  the  rest  of  her  clothes  halfway  down 
her  waist.  On  her  head  was  a  beautiful  little  tiara  of 
diamonds ;  a  diamond  necklace,  and  a  stomacher  of 
diamonds,  worth  three  score  thousand  pounds,  which 
she  is  to  wear  at  the  Coronation  too.  Her  train  was 
borne  by  the  ten  bridesmaids,  Lady  Sarah  Lenox,  Lady 
Caroline  Russell,  Lady  Caroline  Montagu,  Lady  Har- 
riot Bentinck,  Lady  Anne  Hamilton,  Lady  Essex  Kerr 
(daughters  of  Dukes  of  Richmond,  Bedford,  Manches- 
ter, Portland,  Hamilton,  and  Roxburgh)  ;  and  four 
daughters  of  the  Earls  of  Albemarle,  Brook,  Harcourt, 
and  Ilchester, — -Lady  Elizabeth  Keppel,  Louisa  Gre- 
ville,  Elizabeth  Harcourt,  and  Susan  Fox  Strangways  : 
their  heads  crowned  with  diamonds,  and  in  robes  of 
white  and  silver.     Lady  Caroline  Russell  is  extremely 

*  "  Queen  Charlotte  had  always  been  if  not  ugly,  at  least  ordinary, 
but  in  her  later  years  her  want  of  personal  charms  became  of  course 
less  observable,  and  it  used  to  be  said  that  she  was  grown  better 
looking.  I  one  day  said  something  to  this  effect  to  Colonel  Dis- 
browe,  her  Chamberlain.  '  Yes,'  replied  he,  '  I  do  think  that  the 
bloom  of  her  ugliness  is  going  off.''' — Croker. 


74  T^^<^  Royal  JMairiage. 

handsome  ;  Lady  Elizabeth  Keppel  very  pretty;  bu 
with  neither  features  nor  air,  nothing  ever  looked  s 
charming  as  Lady  Sarah  Lenox ;  she  has  all  the  glow 
of  beauty  peculiar  to  her  family.  As  supper  was  not 
ready,  the  Queen  sat  down,  sung,  and  played  on  the 
harpsichord  to  the  Royal  Family,  who  all  supped  with 
her  in  private.  They  talked  of  the  different  German 
dialects ;  the  King  asked  if  the  Hanoverian  was  not 
pure — '  Oh,  no,  sir,'  said  the  Queen  ;  '  it  is  the  worst  of 
all.' — She  will  not  be  unpopular. 

"  The  Duke  of  Cumberland  told  the  King  that  himself 
and  Lady  Augusta  were  sleepy.  The  Queen  was  very 
averse  to  leave  the  company,  and  at  last  articled  that 
nobody  should  accompany  her  but  the  Princess  of 
Wales  and  her  own  two  German  women,  and  that 
nobody  should  be  admitted  afterwards  but  the  King 
— they  did  not  retire  till  between  two  and  three. 

"  The  next  morning  the  King  had  a  Levee.  After 
the  Levee  there  was  a  Drawing- Room ;  the  Queen 
stood  under  the  throne :  the  women  were  presented 
to  her  by  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton,  and  then  the  men 
by  the  Duke  of  Manchester ;  but  as  she  knew  nobody, 
she  was  not  to  speak.  At  night  there  was  a  ball, 
drawing-rooms  yesterday  and  to-day,  and  then  a  cessa- 
tion of  ceremony  till  the  Coronation,  except  next 
Monday,  when  she  is  to  receive  the  address  of  the 
Lord  Mayor  and  Aldermen,  sitting  on  the  throne 
attended  by  the  bridesmaids.  A  ridiculous  circum- 
stance happened  yesterday;  Lord  Westmoreland,  not 
very  young  nor  clear-sighted,   mistook    Lady    Sarah 


The  Coronation.  75 

Lenox  for  the  Queen,  kneeled  to  her,  and  would  have 
kissed  her  hand  if  she  had  not  prevented  him.  People 
think  that  a  Chancellor  of  Oxford  was  naturally  attracted 
by  the  blood  of  Stuart.  It  is  as  comical  to  see  Kitty 
Dashwood,  the  famous  old  beauty  of  the  Oxfordshire 
Jacobites,  living  in  the  palace  as  Duenna  to  the  Queen. 
She  and  Mrs.  Broughton,  Lord  Lyttelton's  ancient 
Delia,  are  revived  again  in  a  young  court  that  never 
heard  of  them.  There,  I  think  you  could  not  have  had 
a  more  circumstantial  account  of  a  royal  wedding  from 
the  Heralds'  OfQce.     Adieu  ! 

*'  Yours  to  serve  you, 

"  Horace  Sandford, 
"  Mecklenburgh  King-at-Arms." 

The  Coronation  of  the  King  and  Queen  took  place  on 
the  22nd  of  September,  1761,  a  fortnight  after  their 
marriage.     Walpole  writes  to  Mann  : 

"Strawberry  Hill,  Sept.  28,  1761. 

"  What  is  the  finest  sight  in  the  world  ?  A  Corona- 
tion. What  do  people  talk  most  about  ?  A  Coronation. 
Indeed,  one  had  need  be  a  handsome  young  peeress  not 
to  be  fatigued  to  death  with  it.  After  being  exhausted 
with  hearing  of  nothing  else  for  six  weeks,  and  having 
every  cranny  of  my  ideas  stuffed  with  velvet  and  ermine, 
and  tresses,  and  jewels,  I  thought  I  was  very  cunning  in 
going  to  lie  in  Palace-yard,  that  I  might  not  sit  up  all 
night  in  order  to  sei^e  a  place.  The  consequence  of 
this  wise  scheme  was,  that  I  did  not  get  a  wink  of  sleep 
all  night ;  hammering  of  scaffolds,  shouting  of  people. 


76  TJie  Coronation. 

relieving  guards,  and  jangling  of  bells,  was  the  concert 
I  heard  from  twelve  to  six,  when  I  rose ;  and  it  was 
noon  before  the  procession  was  ready  to  set  forth,  and 
night  before  it  returned  from  the  Abbey.  I  then  saw 
the  Hall,  the  dinner,  and  the  champion,  a  gloriously 
illuminated  chamber,  a  wretched  banquet,  and  a  foolish 
puppet-show.  A  Trial  of  a  peer,  though  by  no  means 
so  sumptuous,  is  a  preferable  sight,  for  the  latter  is 
interesting.  At  a  Coronation  one  sees  the  peerage  as 
exalted  as  they  like  to  be,  and  at  a  Trial  as  much 
humbled  as  a  plebeian  wishes  them.  I  tell  you  nothing 
of  who  looked  well;  you  know  them  no  more  than  if  I 
told  you  of  the  next  Coronation.  Yes,  two  ancient 
dames  whom  you  remember,  were  still  ornaments  of  the 
show, — the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  and  Lady  West- 
moreland. Some  of  the  peeresses  were  so  fond  of  their 
robes,  that  they  graciously  exhibited  themselves  for  a 
whole  day  before  to  all  the  company  their  servants 
could  invite  to  see  them.  A  maid  from  Richmond 
begged  leave  to  stay  in  town  because  the  Duchess  of 
Montrose  was  only  to  be  seen  from  two  to  four.  The 
Heralds  were  so  ignorant  of  their  business,  that,  though 
pensioned  for  nothing  but  to  register  lords  and  ladies, 
and  what  belongs  to  them,  they  advertised  in  the  news- 
paper for  the  Christian  names  and  places  of  abode  of 
the  peeresses.  The  King  complained  of  such  omissions 
and  of  the  want  of  precedent ;  Lord  Effingham,  the 
Earl  Marshal,  told  him,  it  was  true  there  had  been 
great  neglect  in  that  office;  but  he  had  now  taken  such 
care  of  registering  directions,  that  mxt  coronation  wou'-(J 


The  Coronaiion.  77 

be  conducted  with  the  greatest  order  imaginable.  The 
King  was  so  diverted  with  this  flattering  speech  that  he 
made  the  earl  repeat  it  several  times. 

"  On  this  occasion  one  saw  to- how  high-water-mark 
extravagance  is  risen  in  England.  At  the  Coronation 
of  George  II.  my  mother  gave  forty  guineas  for  a  dining- 
room,  scaffold,  and  bedchamber.  An  exactly  parallel 
apartment,  only  with  rather  a  worse  view,  was  this  time 
set  at  three  hundred  and  fifty  guineas — a  tolerable  rise 
in  thirty-three  3-ears  !  The  platform  from  St.  Margaret's 
Round-house  to  the  church- door,  which  formerly  let  for 
forty  pounds,  went  this  time  for  two  thousand  four 
hundred  pounds.  Still  more  was  given  for  the  inside  of 
the  Abbey.  The  prebends  would  like  a  Coronation 
every  year.  The  King  paid  nine  thousand  pounds  for 
the  hire  of  jewels  ;  indeed,  last  time,  it  cost  my  father 
fourteen  hundred  to  bejewel  my  Lady  Orford.  A  single 
shop  now  sold  six  hundred  pounds'  sterling  worth  of 
nails — but  nails  are  risen — so  is  everything,  and  every- 
thing adulterated.  If  we  conquer  Spain,  as  we  have 
done  France,  I  expect  to  be  poisoned." 

An  observation  as  awkward  as  that  of  Lord  Effing- 
ham had  been  made  by  the  beautiful  Lady  Coventry  to 
George  II.  "She  was  tired  of  sights,"  she  said; 
"  there  was  only  one  left  that  she  wanted  to  see,  and 
that  was  a  coronation."  The  old  man,  says  Walpole, 
told  the  story  himself  at  supper  to  his  family  with  great 
good  humour.  As  it  happened,  he  outlived  Lady 
Coventry  by  a  few  days. 


78  General  Taste  for  Pleasure. 


CHAPTER  IV, 

General  Taste  for  Pleasure. — Entertainments  at  Twickenham  and 
Esher. — Miss  Chudleigh's  Ball. — Masquerade  at  Richmond 
House. — The  Gallery  at  Strawberry  Hill.^ — Balls. — The  Duchess 
of  Oueensberry. — Petition  of  the  Periwig-makers. — Ladies'  Head- 
gear.— Almack's. — The  Castle  of  Otranto. — Plans  for  a  Bower. — 
A  Late  Dinner. — Walpole's  Idle  Life. — Social  usages. 

For  some  years  after  the   arrival  of  the  Queen,  the 

enlivening  influence  of  a  new  reign  is  clearly  traceable 

in   Walpole's   letters.      The    Court,    indeed,    did    not 

willingly  contribute  much  to  the  national  gaiety.     Its 

plainness  and  economy  soon  incurred  reproach  ;*  while 

there  were  intervals  in  which  the  first  uncertain  signs 

of  mental  derangement  caused  the  young   King  to  be 

withdrawn  from  public  observation.     Still  there  were 

christenings   and    birthdays,   with    now    and    then    a 

wedding,  to  be  celebrated  in  the  royal  family  ;  and  the 

State  festivities,  unavoidable  on  these  occasions,  were 

eagerly  emulated  by  the  nobility.     The  Peace  of  Paris, 

too,  was  not  only  welcomed  with  popular  rejoicings, 

*  "  The  recluse  life  led  here  at  Richmond,  which  is  carried  to 
such  an  excess  of  privacy  and  economy,  that  the  Queen's  friseur 
waits  on  them  at  dinner,  and  that  four  pounds  only  of  beef  are 
allowed  for  their  soup,  disgusts  all  sorts  of  people.'' — IValpole  io 
Lord  Hertford,  Sep.  9,  1764. 


General  Taste  for  Pleasure.  79 

but  produced  a  general  stir  in  society  by  the  renewed 
intercourse  which  it  brought  about  between  France  and 
England.  "  The  two  nations,"  writes  Horace,  "  are 
crossing  over  and  figuring-in."  A  trifle  restrained  by 
the  example  of  the  Court  and  the  presence  of  foreign 
visitors,  the  appetite  for  pleasure  became  universal 
among  the  English  higher  classes.  Lord  Bute  and  the 
Princess  of  Wales,  Wilkes  and  the  North  Briton,  the 
debates  on  privilege  and  on  general  warrants,  divided 
the  attention  of  Walpole's  world  with  the  last  entertain- 
ment at  the  Duke  of  Richmond's  or  Northumberland 
House,  with  Miss  Chudleigh's  last  ball,  with  the  riots 
at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  with  the  fetes  in  honour  of 
the  marriage  of  the  Princess  Augusta  and  the  Prince 
of  Brunswick,  or,  somewhat  later,  of  the  ill-starred 
union  between  the  Princess  Caroline  and  the  King  of 
Denmark.  We  hear  no  more  of  frolics  at  Vauxhall, 
but  we  find  galas,  masquerades,  ridottos,  festinos,  dis- 
plays of  fireworks  following  each  other  in  rapid  succes- 
sion through  our  author's  pages  ;  sometimes  several 
such  scenes  are  described  in  the  same  letter.  There  is, 
of  course,  much  sameness  in  these  descriptions,  but 
some  passages  serve  to  illustrate  the  tastes  of  the  age. 
We  will  make  three  or  four  brief  extracts.  Our  first 
choice  is  an  account  of  two  entertainments  giv«n  to 
French  guests  of  rank,  one  by  Horace  himself  at 
Strawberry  Hill,  the  other  by  Miss  Pelham  at  the 
country  seat  celebrated  by  Pope  and  Thomson.  The 
whole  story  is  contained  in  a  letter  to  George  Montagu, 
written  in  May,  1763  : 

** '  On  vient  de.   nous  donner  une  tres  jolie  fete  au 


8o  Fele  at  Strawberry  Hitt. 

chateau  de  Straberri :  tout  etoit  tapisse  de  narcisses,  de 
tulipes,  et  de  lilacs  :  des  cors  de  chasse,  des  clarionettes; 
des  petits  vers  galants  faits  par  des  fees,  et  qui  se  trou- 
voient  sous  la  presse;  des  fruits  a  la  glace,  du  the,  du 
caffe,  des  biscuits,  et  force  hot-rolls.'* — This  is  not  the 
beginning  of  a  letter  to  you,  but  of  one  that  I  might 
suppose  sets  out  to-night  for  Paris,  or  rather,  which  I 
do  not  suppose  will  set  out  thither ;  for  though  the 
narrative  is  circumstantially  true,  I  don't  believe  the 
actors  were  pleased  enough  with  the  scene,  to  give  so 
favourable  an  account  of  it. 

"The  French  do  not  come  hither  to  see.  A  VAnglaise 
happened  to  be  the  word  in  fashion  ;  and  half  a  dozen 
of  the  most  fashionable  people  have  been  the  dupes  of 
it.  I  take  for  granted  that  their  next  mode  will  be 
a  riroquaisc,  that  they  may  be  under  no  obligation  of 
realising  their  pretensions.  Madame  de  Boufflers 
I  think  will  die  a  mart}^  to  a  taste,  which  she  fancied 
she  had,  and  finds  she  has  not.  Never  having  stirred 
ten  miles  from  Paris,  and  having  only  rolled  in  an  easy 
coach  from  one  hotel  to  another  on  a  gliding  pavement, 
she  is  already  worn  out  with  being  hurried  from  morn- 
ing till  night  from  one  sight  to  another.  She  rises 
every  morning  so  fatigued  with  the  toils  of  the  preceding 
day,  that  she  has  not  strength,  if  she  had  inclination,  to 

*  Walpole  was  thinking  of  an  anecdote  he  had  told  in  a  pre- 
vious letter.  "  The  old  Mardchale  de  Villars  gave  a  vast  dinner 
[at  Paris]  to  the  Duchess  of  Bedford.  In  the  middle  of  the  dessert, 
Madame  de  Villars  called  out,  '  Oh  dear  !  they  have  forgot  !  yet  I 
bespoke  them,  and  I  am  sure  they  are  ready  ;  you  English  love  hot 
rolls — bring  the  rolls.'  There  arrived  a  huge  dish  of  hot  rolls,  an<1 
a  sauce-boat  of  melted  butter." 


Fete  at  Strazvberry  Hill.  8i 

observe  the  least,  or  the  finest  thing  she  sees  !  She 
came  hither  to-day  to  a  great  breakfast  I  made  for  her, 
with  her  eyes  a  foot  deep  in  her  head,  her  hands 
danghng,  and  scarce  able  to  support  her  knitting-bag. 
She  had  been  yesterday  to  see  a  ship  launched,  and 
went  from  Greenwich  by  water  to  Ranelagh.  Madame 
Dusson,  who  is  Dutch-built,  and  whose  muscles  are 
pleasure-proof,  came  with  her ;  there  were  besides, 
Lady  Mary  Coke,  Lord  and  Lady  Holdernesse,  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Grafton,  Lord  Hertford,  Lord 
Villiers,  Offley,  Messieurs  de  Fleury,  D'Eon,  et 
Duclos.  The  latter  is  author  of  the  Life  of  Louis 
Onze ;  dresses  like  a  dissenting  minister,  which  I 
suppose  is  the  livery  of  a  hcl  esprit,  and  is  much  more 
impetuous  than  agreeable.  We  breakfasted  in  the 
great  parlour,  and  I  had  filled  the  hall  and  large 
cloister  by  turns  with  French  horns  and  clarionettes. 
As  the  French  ladies  had  never  seen  a  printing-house, 
I  carried  them  into  mine  ;  they  found  something  ready 
set,  and  desiring  to  see  what  it  was,  it  proved  as 
follows ; 

''  The  Press  speaks — • 
"  For  Madame  De  Boufflers- 


<.'( 


The  graceful  fair,  who  loves  to  know. 
Nor  dreads  the  north's  inclement  snow  5 
Who  bids  her  polish'd  accent  wear 
The  British  diction's  harsher  air  ; 
Shall  read  her  praise  in  every  clime 
Where  types  can  speak  or  poets  rhyme. 


82  Fete  at  Strawberry  Hill. 

"For  Madame  DussoN, 

"  Feign  not  an  ignorance  of  what  I  speak  ; 
:  You  could  not  miss  my  meaning  were  it  Greek  ; 

'Tis  the  same  language  Belgium  utter'd  first, 
The  same  which  from  admiring  Gallia  burst. 
True  sentiment  a  like  expression  pours  ; 
Each  country  says  the  same  to  eyes  like  yours. 

"  You  will  comprehend  that  the  first  speaks  English, 
and  that  the  second  does  not ;  that  the  second  is  hand- 
some, and  the  first  not ;  and  that  the  second  was  born 
in  Holland.  This  little  gentilesse  pleased,  and  atoned 
for  the  popery*  of  my  house,  which  was  not  serious 
enough  for  Madame  de  Boufflers,  who  is  Montmorency, 
et  dtt  sang  du  premier  Chretien ;  and  too  serious  for 
Madame  Dusson,  who  is  a  Dutch  Calvinist.  .  .  .  The 
Gallery  is  not  advanced  enough  to  give  them  any  idea 
at  all,  as  they  are  not  apt  to  go  out  of  their  way  for  one ; 
but  the  Cabinet,  and  the  glory  of  yellow  glass  at  top, 
which  had  a  charming  sun  for  a  foil,  did  surmount  their 
indifference,  especially  as  they  were  animated  by  the 
Duchess  of  Grafton,  who  had  never  happened  to  be 
here  before,  and  who  perfectly  entered  into  the  air  of 

*  "The  Due  de  Nivernois  [the  French  ambassador]  called  here 
the  other  day  in  his  way  from  Hampton  Court ;  but,  as  the  most 
sensible  French  never  have  eyes  to  see  anything,  unless  they  see  it 
every  day  and  see  it  in  fashion,  I  cannot  say  he  flattered  me  much, 
or  was  much  struck  with  Strawberry.  When  I  carried  him  into  the 
Cabinet,  which  I  have  told  you  is  formed  upon  the  idea  of  a  Catho- 
lic chapel,  he  pulled  off  his  hat,  but  perceiving  his  error,  he  said, 
'  Ce  71  est  pas  tine  chapclle  pourtant^  and  seemed  a  little  di.>pleased.'' 
—  Walpole  to  Mann,  Apr- 1  30,  1763. 


Entertainment  at  Esher,  83 

enchantment  and  fairyism,  wliich  is  the  loi:e   of  the 
place,  and  was  pecuharly  so  to-day. 

"  Thuisday. 
**  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  to  have  nothing  but  a 
journal  of  pleasures  to  send  you  ;  I  never  passed  a 
more  agreeable  day  than  yesterday.  Miss  Pelham 
gave  the  French  an  entertainment  at  Esher  ;  but  they 
have  been  so  feasted  and  amused,  that  none  of  them 
were  well  enough,  or  reposed  enough,  to  come,  but 
Nivernois  and  Madame  Dusson,  The  rest  of  the  com- 
pany were,  the  Graftons,  Lady  Rockingham,  Lord  and 
Lady  Pembroke.  .  .  .  The  day  was  delightful,  the  scene 
transporting ;  the  trees,  lawns,  concaves,  all  in  the  per- 
fection in  which  the  ghost  of  Kent*  would  joy  to  see 
them.  At  twelve  we  made  the  tour  of  the  farm  in 
eight  chaises  and  calashes,  horsemen,  and  footmen, 
setting  out  like  a  picture  of  Wouverman's,  My  lot 
fell  in  the  lap  of  Mrs.  Anne  Pitt,t  which  I  could  have 
excused,  as  she  was  not  at  all  in  the  style  of  the  day, 
romantic,  but  political.  We  had  a  magnificent  dinner, 
cloaked  in  the  modesty  of  earthenware  ;  French  horns 
and  hautboys  on  the  lawn.  We  walked  to  the  Belvi- 
dere   on   the   summit    of  the    hill,  where  a  theatrical 

*  "  Ether's  peaceful  grove 
Where  Kent  and  Nature  vie  for  Pelham's  love." — Pope. 

"  Esher's  groves, 
Where,  in  the  sweetest  solitude,  embraced 
By  the  soft  windings  of  the  silent  Mole, 
From  courts  and  senates  Pelham  finds  repose." — Thomson. 

t  Mrs.  Anne  Pitt,  sister  of  Lord  Chatham. 

6—2 


8_j.  Ent':rlainiu:nt  at  Esher. 

storm  only  served  to  heighten  the  beauty  of  the  land- 
scape,   a   rainbow   on   a   dark   cloud   falling   precisely 
behind  the  tower  of  a  neighbouring  church,  between 
another  tower  and  the  building  at  Claremont.     Mon- 
sieur de  Nivernois,  who  had  been  absorbed  all  day,  and 
lagging  behind,  translating  my  verses,  was  delivered  of 
his  version,  and  of  some  more  lines  which  he  wrote  on 
Miss  Pelham  in  the  Belvidere,  while  we  drank  tea  and 
coffee.     From  thence  we  passed  into  the  wood,   and 
the  ladies  formed  a  circle  on  chairs  before  the  mouth  of 
the  cave,  which  was  overhung  to  a  vast  height  with 
woodbines,  lilacs,  and  laburnums,  and  dignified  by  the 
tall  shapely  cypresses.     On  the  descent  of  the  hill  were 
placed  the   French  horns ;  the  abigails,  servants,  and 
neighbours  wandering  below  by  the  river ;  in  short,  it 
was   Parnassus,    as   Watteau   would   have   painted   it. 
Here  we  had  a  rural  syllabub,  and  part  of  the  company 
returned  to  town  ;  but  were  replaced  by  Giardini  and 
Onofrio,  who  with  Nivernois  on  the  violin,  and  Lord 
Pembroke  on   the   base,    accompanied    Miss    Pelham, 
Lady  Rockingham,  and  the   Duchess  of  Grafton,  who 
sang.      This  little  concert   lasted   till   past  ten ;  then 
there  were  minuets,  and  as  we  had  several  couples  left, 
it  concluded  with  a  country  dance.     I  blush  again,  for 
I  danced,  but  was  kept  in  countenance  by  Nivernois, 
who  has  one  wrinkle  more  than  I  have.     A  quarter 
after  twelve  they  sat  down  to  supper,  and  I  came  home 
by  a  charming  moonlight.     I  am  going  to  dine  in  town, 
and  to  a  great  ball  with  fireworks  at  Miss  Chudleigh's, 
but   I  return  hither  on   Sunday,  to  bid  adieu  to   this 


Jlliss  CJmdleigJis  Ball.  05 

abominable  Arcadian  life ;  for  really  when  one  is  not 
joung,  one  ougbt  to  do  nothing  but  s'ennuyey ;  I  will 
try,  but  I  always  go  about  it  awkwardly." 

Two  days  later  this  indefatigable  chronicler  of  trifles 
describes  to  Conway  the /c/c  given  by  Miss  Chudleigh, 
afterwards  known  as  the  Duchess  of  Kingston,  but  at 
that  time  a  maid  of  honour  to  the  Princess-Dowager  of 
Wales : 

"  Oh,  that  you  had  been  at  her  ball  t'other  night ! 
History  could  never  describe  it  and  keep  its  counte- 
nance. The  Queen's  real  birthday,  you  know,  is  not 
kept :  this  Maid  of  Honour  kept  it — nay,  while  the 
Court  is  in  mourning,  expected  people  to  be  out  of 
mourning ;  the  Queen's  family  really  was  so,  Lady 
Northumberland  having  desired  leave  for  them.  A 
scaffold  was  erected  in  Hyde-park  for  fireworks.  To 
show  the  illuminations  without  to  more  advantage,  the 
company  were  received  in  an  apartment  totally  dark, 
where  they  remained  for  two  hours.  .  .  .  The  fireworks 
were  fine,  and  succeeded  well.  On  each  side  of  the 
court  were  two  large  scaffolds  for  the  Virgin's*  trades- 
people. When  the  fireworks  ceased,  a  large  scene  was 
lighted  in  the  court,  representing  their  Majesties  ;  on 
each  side  of  which  were  six  obelisks,  painted  with 
emblems,  and  illuminated ;  mottoes  beneath  in  Latin 
and  English.  .  .  .  The  lady  of  the  house  made  many 
apologies  for  the  poorness  of  the  performance,  which 

'^  Miss  ClmdlJ-h. 


86  ]\Iasqiicrade  at  RicJuuond  House. 

she  said  was  only  oil-paper,  painted  by  one  of  her 
servants ;  but  it  really  was  fine  and  pretty.  Behind 
the  house  was  a  cenotaph  for  the  Princess  Elizabeth, 
a  kind  of  illuminated  cradle;  the  motto,  All  the  honours 
the  dead  can  receive.  This  burying-ground  was  a  strange 
codicil  to  a  festival ;  and,  what  was  more  strange,  about 
one  in  the  morning,  this  sarcophagus  burst  out  into 
crackers  and  guns.  The  Margrave  of  Anspach  began 
the  ball  with  the  Virgin,  The  supper  was  most  sump- 
tuous." 

A  fortnight  afterwards  he  writes  : 

"  June  7th. 
**  Last  night  we  had  a  magnificent  entertainment  at 
Richmond  House,  a  masquerade  and  fireworks.  A 
masquerade  was  a  new  sight  to  the  young  people,  who 
had  dressed  themselves  charmingly,  without  having  the 
fear  of  an  earthquake  before  their  eyes,  though  Prince 
William  and  Prince  Henry*  were  not  suffered  to  be 
there.  The  Duchesses  of  Richmond  and  Grafton,  the 
first  as  a  Persian  Sultana,  the  latter  as  Cleopatra, — and 
such  a  Cleopatra  !  were  glorious  figures,  in  very  different 
styles.  Mrs.  Fitzroy  in  a  Turkish  dress,  Lady  George 
Lenox  and  Lady  Bolingbroke  as  Grecian  girls.  Lady 
Mary  Coke  as  Imoinda,  and  Lady  Pembroke  as  a  pil- 
grim, were  the  principal  beauties  of  the  night.  The 
whole  garden  was  illuminated,  and  the  apartments. 
hn  encampment  of  barges  decked  with  streamers  in 
the  middle  of  the  Thames,  kept  the  people  from  danger, 

*  Afteiwards  Dukes  of  Gloucester  and  Cumberland. 


The  Galleiy  at  Strawberry  Hill.  Sy 

and  formed  a  stage  for  the  fireworks,  which  were  placed, 
too,  along  the  rails  of  the  garden.  The  ground  rooms 
lighted,  with  suppers  spread,  the  houses  covered  and 
filled  with  people,  the  bridge,  the  garden  full  of  masks, 
Whitehall  crowded  with  spectators  to  see  the  dresses 
pass,  and  the  multitude  of  heads  on  the  river  who  came 
to  light  by  the  splendour  of  the  fire-wheels,  composed 
the  gayest  and  richest  scene  imaginable,  not  to  men» 
tion  the  diamonds  and  sumptuousness  of  the  habits. 
The  Dukes  of  York  and  Cumberland,  and  the  Mar- 
grave of  Anspach,  were  there,  and  about  six  hundred 
masks." 

In  the  intervals  of  these  engagements,  he  is  busy  at 
Strawberry  Hill.  Thus,  in  arranging  a  short  visit  to 
George  Montagu,  he  says  (July  i)  : 

"  The  journey  you  must  accept  as  a  great  sacrifice 
either  to  you  or  to  my  promise,  for  I  quit  the  Gallery 
almost  in  the  critical  minute  of  consummation.  Gilders, 
carvers,  upholsterers,  and  picture-cleaners  are  labouring 
at  their  several  forges,  and  I  do  not  love  to  trust  a 
hammer  or  a  brush  without  my  own  supervisal.  This 
will  make  my  stay  very  short,  but  it  is  a  greater  compli- 
ment than  a  month  would  be  at  another  season ;  and 
yet  I  am  not  profuse  of  months.  Well,  but  I  begin  to 
be  ashamed  of  my  magnificence  ;  Strawberry  is  growing 
sumptuous  in  its  latter  day  ;  it  will  scarce  be  any  longer 
like  the  fruit  of  its  name,  or  the  modesty  of  its  ancient 
demeanour,  both  which  seem  to  have  been  in  Spenser's 
prophetic  eye,  when  he  sung  of 


SQ  Balls. 

*" the  blushing  strawberries 

Which  lurk,  close-shrouded  from  high-looking  eyes, 
Showing  that  sweetness  low  and  hidden  lies.' 

"  In  truth,  my  collection  was  too  great  already  to  be 
lodged  humbly ;  it  has  extended  my  walls,  and  pomp 
followed.  It  was  a  neat,  small  house  ;  it  now  will  be  a 
comfortable  one,  and,  except  one  fine  apartment,  does 
not  deviate  from  its  simplicity.  Adieu  !  I  know  nothing 
about  the  world,  and  am  only  Strawberry's  and  yours 
sincerely." 

Our  next  extract  shows  that,  however  fond  of  fre- 
quenting large  parties,  the  writer  had  little  inclination 
to  give  them,  at  any  rate,  in  his  toy-house : 

"  We  had,  last  Monday,  the  prettiest  ball  that  ever 
was  seen,  at  Mrs.  Anne  Pitt's,  in  the  compass  of  a 
silver  penny.  There  were  one  hundred  and  four  per- 
sons, of  which  number  fifty-five  supped.  The  supper- 
room  was  disposed  with  tables  and  benches  back  to 
back,  in  the  manner  of  an  ale-house.  The  idea  sounds 
ill ;  but  the  fairies  had  so  improved  upon  it,  had  so 
be-garlanded,  so  sweeUneated,  and  so  desserted  it,  that  it 
looked  like  a  vision.  I  told  her  she  could  only  have  fed 
and  stowed  so  much  company  by  a  miracle,  and  that, 
when  we  were  gone,  she  would  take  up  twelve  baskets- 
full  of  people.  The  Duchess  of  Bedford  asked  me 
before  Madame  de  Guerchy,  if  I  would  not  give  them  a 
ball  at  Strawberry?  Not  for  the  universe!  What, 
turn  a  ball,  and  dust,  and  dirt,  and  a  million  of  candles, 
into  my  charming  new  gallery !      I  said,  I   could  not 


Balls.  89 

flatter  myself  that  people  would  give  themselves  the 
trouble  of  going  eleven  miles  for  a  hall — (though  I 
believe  they  would  go  fifty). — 'Well,  then,'  says  she, 
'  it  shall  be  a  dinner.' — '  With  all  my  heart,  I  have  no 
objection ;  but  no  hall  shall  set  its  foot  within  my 
doors.'  " — Walpole  to  Lord  Hertford,  Feb.  24,  1764. 

The  promised  dinner  was  duly  given.  "  Strawberry," 
we  read  soon  afterwards,  "has  been  more  sumptuous 
to-day  than  ordinary,  and  banquetted  their  representa- 
tive Majesties  of  France  and  Spain.  .  .  .  They  really 
seemed  quite  pleased  with  the  place  and  the  day  ;  but 
I  must  tell  you,  the  treasury  of  the  abbey  will  feel  it, 
for,  without  magnificence,  all  was  handsomely  done." 
Mrs.  Anne  Pitt,  the  giver  of  the  ball,  was  present  at  the 
banquet.  In  describing  to  a  foreigner  this  lady's  strong 
likeness  to  her  famous  brother,  Walpole  once  said 
happily,  "  Qu'ils  se  ressemblaient  comme  deux  gouttes 
defend  Another  eccentric  entertainer  of  the  day  was 
the  Duchess  of  Queensberry,  "  very  clever,  very  whimsi- 
cal, and  just  not  mad."     Of  her  we  are  told  : 

"  Last  Thursday,  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  gave  a 
ball,  opened  it  herself  with  a  minuet,  and  danced  two 
country  dances :  as  she  had  enjoined  everybody  to  be 
with  her  by  six,  to  sup  at  twelve,  and  go  away  directly. 
.  .  .  The  only  extraordinary  thing  the  Duchess  did,  was 
to  do  nothing  extraordinary,  for  I  do  not  call  it  very 
mad  that  some  pique  happening  between  her  and  the 
Duchess  of  Bedford,  the  latter  had  this  distich  sent  Id 
her, 


93  The  Periwig-makers. 

"'  Come  with  a  whistle,  and  come  with  a  call, 
Come  with  a  good  will,  or  come  not  at  all.' 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
did  not  border  a  little  upon  Moorfields.*  The  gallery 
where  they  danced  was  very  cold.  Lord  Lorn,  George 
Selwyn,  and  I,  retired  into  a  little  room,  and  sat  com- 
fortably by  the  fire.  The  Duchess  looked  in,  said 
nothing,  and  sent  a  smith  to  take  the  hinges  of  the  door 
off.  We  understood  the  hint,  and  left  the  room,  and  so 
did  the  smith  the  door.  This  was  pretty  legible." — 
Walpole  to  Lord  Hertford,  March  ii,  176^. 

A  little  later  on  we  have  more  gossip  about  the 
humours  of  the  day  and  of  Lady  Queensberry.  Writing 
to  the  same  correspondent,  under  date  of  Febuary  12, 
1765,  Horace  says  : 

"  If  it  was  not  too  long  to  transcribe,  I  would  send 
you  an  entertaining  petitiont  of  the  periwig-makers  to 
the  King,  in  which  they  complain  that  men  will  wear 
their  own  hair.  Should  one  almost  wonder  if  carpenters 
were  to  remonstrate,  that  since  the  peace  their  trade 

*  The  old  Bedlam  stood  in  Moorfields. 

+  The  substance  of  this  petition,  and  the  grave  answer  which  the 
King  was  advised  to  give  to  such  a  ludicrous  appeal,  are  preserved 
in  the  Ccntlouans  Magazine  for  1765,  p.  95  ;  where  also  we  learn 
that  Mr.  Walpole's  idea  of  the  Carpenters'  petition  was  put  in 
practice,  and  his  Majesty  was  humbly  entreated  to  wear  a  wooden 
leg  himself,  and  to  enjoin  all  his  servants  to  do  the  same.  It  may, 
therefore,  be  presumed  that  this  jcu  cf esprit  was  from  the  pen  of 
Mr.  Walpole. 


Ladies   Ilcad-gcar.  .91 

decays,  and  that  there  is  no  demand  for  wooden  legs  ? 
Apropos,  my  Lady  Hertford's  friend,  Lady  Harriot 
Vernon,  has  quarrelled  with  me  for  smiling  at  the 
enormous  head-gear  of  her  daughter.  Lady  Grosvenor. 
She  came  one  night  to  Northumberland-house  with  such 
display  of  friz,  that  it  literally  spread  beyond  her  shoul- 
ders. I  happened  to  say  it  looked  as  if  her  parents  had 
stinted  her  in  hair  before  marriage,  and  that  she  was 
determined  to  indulge  her  fancy  now.  This,  among 
ten  thousand  things  said  by  all  the  world,  was  reported 
to  Lady  Harriot,  and  has  occasioned  my  disgrace.  As 
she  never  found  fault  with  anybody  herself,  I  excuse 
her !  You  will  be  less  surprised  to  hear  that  the 
Duchess  of  Queensberry  has  not  yet  done  dressing  her- 
self marvellously :  she  was  at  Court  on  Sunday  in  a 
gown  and  petticoat  of  red  flannel.  The  same  day  the 
Guerchys  made  a  dinner  for  her,  and  invited  Lord  and 
Lady  Hyde,  the  Forbes's,  and  her  other  particular 
friends  :  in  the  morning  she  sent  word  she  was  to 
go  out  of  town,  but  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over, 
arrived  at  Madame  de  Guerchy's,  and  said  she  had 
been  at  Court." 

On  February  14th,  he  adds  in  the  same  letter: 

"  The  new  Assembly  Room  at  Almack's  was  opened 
the  night  before  last,  and  they  say  is  very  magnificent, 
but  it  was  empty ;  half  the  town  is  ill  with  colds,  and 
many  were  afraid  to  go,  as  the  house  is  scarcely  built 
yet.  Almack  advertised  that  it  was  built  with  hot 
bricks  and  boiling  water — think  what  a  rage  there  must 


92  AliiiacJSs. 

"be  for  public  places,  if  this  notice,  instead  of  terrifying, 
could  draw  anybody  thither.  They  tell  me  the  ceilings 
were  dropping  with  wet — but  can  you  believe  me,  when 
I  assure  you  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  was  there  ? — 
Nay,  had  had  a  levee  in  the  morning,  and  went  to  the 
Opera  before  the  assembly !  There  is  a  vast  flight  of 
steps,  and  he  was  forced  to  rest  two  or  three  times.  If 
he  dies  of  it, — and  how  should  he  not  ? — it  will  sound 
very  silly  when  Hercules  or  Theseus  ask  him  what  he 
died  of,  to  reply,  '  I  caught  my  death  on  a  damp  stair- 
case at  a  new  club-room.'  " 

The  reader  will  be  inclined  to  wonder  how,  with  so 
many  distractions,  Walpole  found  time  for  all  this 
letter-writing,  and  still  more  how  he  managed  to  come 
before  the  public  as  an  author.  His,  however,  was  the 
pen  of  an  extremely  ready  writer,  and,  when  not  other- 
wise engaged,  he  plied  it  with  unwearied  diligence. 
This  appears  in  the  following  letter  to  Cole,  the  Cam- 
bridge antiquary,  in  which  Horace  gives  an  account  of 
the  origin  and  composition  of  his  well-known  romance. 
The  letter  shows  also  the  writer's  love  of  collecting  and 
designing  curiosities : 

"  Strawberry  Hill,  March  9,  1765. 

"  I  had  time  to  \vrite  but  a  short  note  with  the  '  Castle 
of  Otranto,'  as  your  messenger  called  on  me  at  four 
o'clock,  as  I  was  going  to  dine  abroad.  Your  partiality 
to  me  and  Strawberry  have,  I  hope,  inclined  you  to 
excuse  the  wildness  of  the  stcry.     You  will  even  have 


The  Castle  of  Otranto.  93 

found  soiTie  traits  to  put  3'ou  in  mind  of  this  place. 
When  you  read  of  the  picture  quitting  its  panel,  did  not 
you  recollect  the  portrait  of  Lord  Falkland,  all  in  white, 
in  my  Gallery  ?  Shall  I  even  confess  to  you,  what  was 
the  origin  of  this  romance  !  I  waked  one  morning,  in 
the  beginning  of  last  June,  from  a  dream,  of  which,  all 
I  could  recover  was,  that  I  had  thought  myself  in  an 
ancient  castle  (a  very  natural  dream  for  a  head  filled 
like  mine  with  Gothic  story),  and  that  on  the  uppermost 
bannister  of  a  great  staircase  I  saw  a  gigantic  hand  in 
armour.  In  the  evening  I  sat  down,  and  began  to  write, 
without  knowing  in  the  least  what  I  intended  to  say  or 
relate.  The  work  grew  on  my  hands,  and  I  grew  fond 
of  it — add,  that  I  was  very  glad  to  think  of  anything, 
rather  than  politics.  In  short,  I  was  so  engrossed  with 
my  tale,  which  I  completed  in  less  than  two  months, 
that  one  evening,  I  wrote  from  the  time  I  had  drunk  my 
tea,  about  six  o'clock,  till  half  an  hour  after  one  in  the 
morning,  when  my  hand  and  fingers  were  so  weary, 
that  I  could  not  hold  the  pen  to  finish  the  sentence,  but 
left  Matilda  and  Isabella  talking,  in  the  middle  of  a 
paragraph.  You  will  laugh  at  my  earnestness ;  but  if 
I  have  amused  you,  by  retracing  with  any  fidelity  the 
manners  of  ancient  days,  I  am  content,  and  give  you 
leave  to  think  me  as  idle  as  you  please.  .  .  . 

"  When  you  go  into  Cheshire,  and  upon  your  ramble, 
may  I  trouble  you  with  a  commission  ?  but  about  which 
you  must  promise  me  not  to  go  a  step  out  of  your  way. 
Mr.  Bateman  has  got  a  cloister  at  Old  Windsor,  fur- 
nished with  ancient  wooden  chairs,  most  of  them  trian- 


94  Plans  for  a  Bozusr. 

gular,  but  all  of  various  patterns,  and  carved  and  turned 
in  the  most  uncouth  and  whimsical  forms.  He  picked 
them  up  one  by  one,  for  two,  three,  five,  or  six  shillings 
a-piece  from  different  farm-houses  in  Herefordshire.  I 
have  long  envied  and  coveted  them.  There  may  be 
such  in  poor  cottages,  in  so  neighbouring  a  county  as 
Cheshire.  I  should  not  grudge  any  expense  for  pur- 
chase or  carriage  ;  and  should  be  glad  even  of  a  couple 
such  for  ni}^  cloister  here.  When  you  are  copying 
inscriptions  in  a  churchyard  in  any  village,  think  of 
me,  and  step  into  the  first  cottage  5-ou  see — but  don't 
take  further  trouble  than  that.  .  .  . 

*'  j\Iy  bower  is  determined,  but  not  at  all  what  it  is  to 
be.  Though  I  write  romances,  I  cannot  tell  how  to 
build  all  that  belongs  to  them.  Madame  Danois,  in  the 
Fairy  Tales,  used  to  tapestry  them  with,  jonquils  ;  but  as 
that  furniture  will  not  last  above  a  fortnight  in  the  year, 
I  shall  prefer  something  more  huckaback.  I  have  de- 
cided that  the  outsidii  shall  be  of  trcillagc,  which,  how- 
ever, I  shall  not  commence,  till  I  have  again  seen  some 
of  old  Louis's  old-fashioned  Galantcries  at  Versailles. 
Rosamond's  bower,  3-ou,  and  I,  and  Tom  Hearne  know, 
was  a  labyrinth  :  but  as  my  territory  v/ill  admit  of  a  very 
short  clew,  I  lay  aside  all  thoughts  of  a  mazy  habita- 
tion :  though  a  bower  is  very  different  from  an  arbour, 
and  must  have  more  chambers  than  one.  In  short,  I 
both  know,  and  don't  know,  what  it  should  be.  I  am 
almost  afraid  I  must  go  and  read  Spenser,  and  wade 
through  his  allegories,  and  drawling  stanzas,  to  get  at  a 
picture.     But,  good  night  !  you  see  how  one  gossips, 


A  Late  Dinner.  95 

when  one  is  alone,  and  at  quiet  on  one's  own  dunghill ! 
— Well !  it  may  be  trifling  ;  yet  it  is  such  trifling  as 
Ambition  never  is  happy  enough  to  know !  Ambition 
orders  palaces,  but  it  is  Content  that  chats  for  a  page  or 
two  over  a  bower." 

A  large  part  of  Walpole's  correspondence  was  de- 
spatched at  night  after  his  return  from  the  theatre  or  a 
reception.  His  habits  were  late.  He  was  a  late  riser, 
and  he  often  played  cards  till  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  Whist  he  disliked,  but  gave  himself  to  faro, 
while  that  game  was  in  vogue,  and  afterwards  to  loo,  with 
all  the  fervour  of  a  devotee.  But  when  not  thus  occu- 
pied, the  hours  observed  by  the  fashionable  world 
allowed  him  to  retire  early  to  his  desk.  How  different 
those  hours  were  then  from  what  they  now  are,  may  be 
gathered  from  Walpole's  amusing  sketch  of  a  retarded 
dinner,  at  which  he  was  a  sufferer,  in  1765  : 

"  Now  for  my  disaster ;  you  will  laugh  at  it,  though 
it  was  woful  to  me.  I  was  to  dine  at  Northumberland- 
house,  and  went  a  little  after  hour  :  there  I  found  the 
Countess,  Lady  Betty  Mackenzie,  Lady  Strafford ;  my 
Lady  Finlater,  who  was  never  out  of  Scotland  before  ; 
a  tall  lad  of  fifteen,  her  son  ;  Lord  Drogheda,  and  Mr. 
Worseley.  At  five,  arrived  Mr.  Mitchell,  who  said  the 
Lords  had  begun  to  read  the  Poor-bill,  which  would 
take  at  least  two  hours,  and  perhaps  would  debate  it 
afterwards.  We  concluded  dinner  would  be  called  for, 
it  not  being  very  precedented  for  ladies  to  wait  for 
gentlemen  : — no  such  thing.     Six  o'clock  came, — seven 


96  A  Late  Dinner. 

o'clock  came, — our  coaches  came, — well !  we  sent  them 
away,  and  excuses  were  we  were  engaged.  Still  the 
Countess's  heart  did  not  relent,  nor  uttered  a  syllable  of 
apology.  We  wore  out  the  wind  and  the  weather,  the 
Opera  and  the  Play,  Mrs.  Cornelys's  and  Almack's,  and 
every  topic  that  would  do  in  a  formal  circle.  We 
hinted,  represented — in  vain.  The  clock  struck  eight : 
my  Lad}^  at  last,  said,  she  would  go  and  order  dinner ; 
but  it  was  a  good  half-hour  before  it  appeared.  We 
then  sat  down  to  a  table  for  fourteen  covers :  but 
instead  of  substantials,  there  was  nothing  but  a  pro- 
fusion of  plates  striped  red,  green,  and  yellow,  gilt 
plate,  blacks  and  uniforms  !  My  Lady  Finlater,  who 
had  never  seen  these  embroidered  dinners,  nor  dined 
after  three,  was  famished.  The  first  course  stayed 
as  long  as  possible,  in  hopes  of  the  Lords :  so  did 
the  second.  The  dessert  at  last  arrived,  and  the 
middle  dish  was  actually  set  on  when  Lord  Finlater  and 
Mr.  Mackay  arrived!  —  would  you  believe  it? — the 
dessert  was  remanded,  and  the  whole  first  course 
brought  back  again  ! — Stay,  I  have  not  done  : — ^just  as 
this  second  first  course  had  done  its  duty,  Lord 
Northumberland,  Lord  Strafford,  and  Mackenzie  came 
in,  and  the  whole  began  a  third  time  !  Then  the  second 
course  and  the  dessert !  I  thought  we  should  have 
dropped  from  our  chairs  with  fatigue  and  fumes ! 
When  the  clock  struck  eleven,  we  were  asked  to  return 
to  the  drawing-room,  and  drink  tea  and  coffee,  but 
I  said  I  was  engaged  to  supper,  and  came  home  to 
bed." 


An  Idle  Life.  97 

A  few  weeks  later  he  laments  his  idle  life  in  a  letter 
to  Lady  Hervey  : 

"  It  is  scandalous,  at  my  age,  to  have  been  carried 
backwards  and  forwards  to  balls  and  suppers  and  parties 
by  very  young  people,  as  I  was  all  last  week.  My  reso- 
lutions of  growing  old  and  staid  are  admirable  :  I  wake 
with  a  sober  plan,  and  intend  to  pass  the  day  with  my 
friends — then  comes  the  Duke  cf  Richmond,  and  hurries 
me  down  to  Whitehall  to  dinner — then  the  Duchess  of 
Grafton  sends  for  me  to  loo  in  Upper  Grosvenor  Street 
— before  I  can  get  thither,  I  am  begged  to  step  to 
Kensington,  to  give  Mrs.  Anne  Pitt  my  opinion  about  a 
bow-window — after  the  loo,  I  am  to  march  back  to 
Whitehall  to  supper — and  after  that,  am  to  walk  with 
Miss  Pelham  on  the  terrace  till  two  in  the  morning, 
because  it  is  moonlight  and  her  chair  is  not  come.  All 
this  does  not  help  my  morning  laziness ;  and,  by  the 
time  I  have  breakfasted,  fed  my  birds  and  my  squirrels. 
and  dressed,  there  is  an  auction  ready.  In  short, 
Madam,  this  was  my  life  last  week,  and  is  I  think  every 
week,  with  the  addition  of  forty  episodes." 

Of  course,  this  confession  was  not  intended  to  be  rerd 
quite  seriously.  It  is  to  be  taken  with  two  grains  of 
allowance,  one  for  humour,  the  other  for  affectation. 
It  was  the  writer's  pleasure  to  overact  the  part  of  an 
idle  fine  gentleman.  But  we  may  fairly  conclude  from 
the  last  two  extracts  that  five  o'clock  was  the  dinner- 
hour  of  extreme  fashion  at  this  time.  It  would  seem 
that  the  customary  hour  was  three  even  with  people  of 

7 


fiS  Social  Us.iz^'s. 


i3 


rank,  and  that  in  the  greatest  houses  it  was  usual  to 
serve  supper.  When  Horace  could  escape  from  the 
loo-table  in  Upper  Grosvenor  Street,  had  no  engage- 
ment to  supper,  and  was  not  forced  to  pace  Whitehall 
Terrace  with  a  belated  spinster  till  two  in  the  morning, 
he  was  able  to  be  at  home  and  in  bed — or  at  work  with 
his  books  or  his  pen — by  eleven  o'clock. 


The  Gout,  59 


CIIAl'fERV. 

The  Gout— Visits  to  Paris.— Bath.— John  Wesley.— Bad  Weather. 
—  English  Summers.  —  Quitting  Parliament.  —  Madame  du 
Deffand. — Human  Vanity.— The  Banks  of  the  Thames. — A 
Subscription  Masquerade.— Extravagance  of  the  Age. — The  Pan- 
theon.— Visiting  Stowe  with  Princess  Amelia. — George  Montagu. 
— The  Countess  of  Ossory. — Powder-Mills  Blown  up  at  Houn- 
slow. — Distractions  of  Business  and  Pleasure. 

Walpole's  acquaintance  with  the  gout  began  before  he 
had  reached  his  fortieth  year.  Its  earhest  approaches 
he  received  without  much  discomposure.  His  chief 
reason,  he  said,  for  objecting  to  "  this  alderman  dis- 
temper "  was  that  he  could  show  no  title  to  it.  "  If 
either  my  father  or  mother  had  had  it,  I  should  not 
dislike  it  so  much.  I  am  herald  enough  to  approve  it  if 
descended  genealogical!}' ;  but  it  is  an  absolute  upstart 
in  me,  and  what  is  more  provoking,  I  had  trusted  to  my 
great  abstinence  for  keeping  me  from  it :  but  thus  it  is, 
if  I  had  any  gentleman-like  virtue,  as  patriotism  or 
loyalty,  I  might  have  got  something  by  them ;  I  had 
nothing  but  that  beggarly  virtue  temperance,  and  she 
had  not  interest  enough  to  keep  me  from  a  fit  of  the 
gout."     By  degrees,  hov/cvcr,  the  attacks  of  his  enemy 


-lOO  Vis  Us  to  Paris  and  Bath. 

became  too  severe  to  be  dismissed  with  pleasantries 
like  these.  In  the  summer  of  1765,  he  was  prostrated 
by  a  seizure  which  held  him  prisoner  for  several  weeks. 
On  recovering  about  the  middle  of  September,  he 
undertook  a  journey  to  Paris,  partly  to  recruit  his 
strength,  and  partly  in  execution  of  a  long-formed 
design.  He  remained  in  the  French  capital  till  the 
following  spring,  mixing  much  in  the  society  of  the 
place,  and  doing  ample  justice  to  the  wit  and  grace  of 
Frenchwomen,  but  shrinking  from  and  detesting  the 
French  philosophers.*  During  this  period  was  formed 
his  friendship  with  Madame  du  Deffand,  his  "  dear  old 
blind  woman,"  as  he  often  calls  her,  with  whom,  after  his 
return  to  England,  he  maintained  a  weekly  correspon- 
dence for  the  rest  of  her  life.  Altogether,  he  derived  so 
much  pleasure  from  his  visit,  that  he  repeated  it  every 
alternate  summer  down  to  that  of  1771 ;  and  we  find 
him  in  Paris  again  in  1775. 

He  had  another  illness  in  the  middle  of  1766,  for 
which  he  tried  the  Bath  waters ;  but  Bath  proved 
not  at  all  to  his  taste,  though  he  met  the  great  Lord 
Chatham  there,  and  many  other  persons  of  distinc- 
tion. "These  watering-places,"  he  says,  "that  mimic 
a  capital,  and  add  vulgarisms  and  familiarities  of  their 
own,  seem  to  me  like  abigails  in  cast  gowns,  and  I  am 
not  young  enough  to  take  up  with  either."     Finding 

*  "  Tbeir  women  are  the  first  in  the  world  in  everything  but 
beauty  ;  sensible,  agreeable,  and  infinitely  informed.  The  philo' 
sophes,  except  Buffon,  are  solemn,  arrogant,  dictatorial  coxcombs 
—  1  need  not  say  superlatively  disagreeable." — IValpoIc  to  Mann. 


John   Wesley.  loi 

himself  dull  at  Bath,  he  attended  a  Wesle3-an  service,  of 
which  he  gives  a  somewhat  flippant  description  : 

*'  My  health  advances  faster  than  my  amusement. 
However,  I  have  been  at  one  opera,  Mr.  Wesley's. 
They  have  boys  and  girls  wdth  charming  voices,  that 
sing  hymns,  in  parts,  to  Scotch  ballad  tunes  ;  but  in- 
deed so  long,  that  one  would  think  they  were  already 
in  eternit}',  and  knew  how  much  time  they  had  before 
them.  The  chapel  is  very  neat,  with  true  Gothic 
windows  (yet  I  am  not  converted)  ;  but  I  was  glad  to 
see  that  luxury  is  creeping  in  upon  them  before  perse- 
cution :  they  have  very  neat  mahogany  stands  for 
branches,  and  brackets  of  the  same  in  taste.  At  the 
upper  end  is  a  broad  liauipas  of  four  steps,  advancing  in 
the  middle  :  at  each  end  of  the  broadest  part  are  two  of 
lay  eagles,*  with  red  cushions  for  the  parson  and  clerk. 
Behind  them  rise  three  more  steps,  in  the  midst  of 
which  is  a  third  eagle  for  pulpit.  Scarlet  armed  chairs 
to  all  three.  On  either  hand,  a  balcony  for  elect  ladies. 
The  rest  of  the  congregation  sit  on  forms.  Behind  the 
pit,  in  a  dark  niche,  is  a  plain  table  wdthin  rails ;  so 
you  see  the  throne  is  for  the  apostle.  Wesley  is  a  lean 
elderly  man,  fresh-coloured,  his  hair  smoothly  combed, 
but  with  a  soiipcon  of  curl  at  the  ends.  Wondrous  clean, 
but  as  evidently  an  actor  as  Garrick.  He  spoke  his 
sermon,  but  so  fast,  and  with  so  little  accent,  that  I  am 
sure  he  has  often  uttered  it,  for  it  was  like  a  lesson. 
There  were  parts  and  eloquence  in  it  ;  but  towards  the 

^'  He  alludes  to  his  Roman  Ea,:;le  at  Strawberry  Hi'', 


102  Bad  Weather. 

end  he  exalted  his  voice,  and  acted  very  ugly  enthusi- 
asm ;  decried  learning,  and  told  stories,  like  Latimer, 
of  the  fool  of  his  college,  who  said,  '  I  thanks  God  for 
everything.'  Except  a  few  from  curiosity,  and  some 
honourable  ivovicn,  the  congregation  was  very  mean. 
There  was  a  Scotch  Countess  of  Buchan,  who  is  carry- 
ing a  pure  rosy  vulgar  face  to  heaven,  and  who  asked 
Miss  Rich,  if  that  was  ihe  atiihor  of  the  poets.  I  believe 
she  meant  me  and  the  Noble  Authors." 

Walpole  was  in  a  peevish  humour  about  this  time. 
He  was  out  of  health,  and  dispirited  besides  by  an 
apprehension  that  the  climate  of  Twickenham  did  not 
suit  him.  Thus  he  writes  from  Strawberry  Hill : 
"  What  afflicts  me  most  is,  that  I  am  persuaded  that 
this  place  is  too  damp  for  me.  I  revive  after  being  in 
London  an  hour,  like  a  member  of  Parliament's  wife. 
It  will  be  a  cruel  fate,  after  having  laid  out  so  much 
money  here,  and  building  upon  it  as  the  nest  of  my  old 
age,  if  I  am  driven  from  it  by  bad  health."  Unfavour- 
able weather  seems  to  have  been  in  some  measure  the 
cause  of  these  fears,  and  of  the  writer's  disordered  con- 
dition. Though  the  harvest-time  of  1766  was  fine,  the 
crops,  we  are  told,  had  been  spoilt  by  previous  rains, 
and  the  years  which  followed  were  a  cycle  of  wet  and 
cold  seasons.  Walpole  grumbles  at  the  weather  with 
English  vigour  and  French  vivacity.  Thus  he  writes  to 
Montagu,  in  June,  1768  : 

**  I  perceive  the  deluge  fell  upon  you  before  it  reached 
us.  It  began  here  but  on  Monday  last,  and  then  rained 
near  eight-and-forty  hours  without  intermission.     My 


English   Summers.  103 

poor  hay  has  not  a  dry  thread  to  its  back.  I  have  had 
a  fire  these  three  days.  In  short,  every  summer  one 
lives  in  a  state  of  mutiny  and  murmur,  and  I  have  found 
the  reason  :  it  is  because  we  will  affect  to  have  a  summer, 
and  we  have  no  title  to  any  such  thing.  Our  poets 
learnt  their  trade  of  the  Romans,  and  so  adopted  the 
terms  of  their  masters.  They  talk  of  shady  groves 
purling  streams,  and  cooling  breezes,  and  we  get  sore 
throats  and  agues  with  attempting  to  realize  these 
visions.  Master  Damon  writes  a  song,  and  invites 
Miss  Chloe  to  enjoy  the  cool  of  the  evening,  and  never 
a  bit  have  we  of  any  such  thing  as  a  cool  evening. 
Zephyr  is  a  north-east  wind,  that  makes  Damon  button 
up  to  the  chin,  and  pinches  Chloe's  nose  till  it  is  red 
and  blue ;  and  then  they  cry,  This  is  a  bad  summer  ! 
as  if  we  ever  had  any  other.  The  best  sun  we  have  is 
made  of  Newcastle  coal,  and  I  am  determined  never  to 
reckon  upon  any  other.  We  ruin  ourselves  with  inviting 
over  foreign  trees,  and  making  our  houses  clamber  up 
hills  to  look  at  prospects.  How  our  ancestors  would 
laugh  at  us,  who  knew  there  was  no  being  comfortable, 
unless  you  had  a  high  hill  before  your  nose,  and  a  thick 
warm  wood  at  your  back !  Taste  is  too  freezing  a  com- 
modity for  us,  and,  depend  upon  it,  will  go  out  of  fashion 
again. — There  is  indeed  a  natural  warmth  in  this 
country,  which,  as  you  say,  I  am  very  glad  not  to  enjoy 
any  longer;  I  mean  the  hot-house  in  St.  Stephen's  chapel. 
My  own  sagacity  makes  me  very  vain,  though  there  was 
very  little  merit  in  it.  I  had  seen  so  much  of  all  parties, 
that  I  had  httle  esteem  left  for  any;  it  is  most  indiffer- 


I04  Qiiitling  Parliament. 

ent  to  me  who  is  in  or  who  is  out,  or  which  is  set  in  the 
pillory,  Mr.  Wilkes  or  my  Lord  Mansfield.  I  see  the 
country  going  to  ruin,  and  no  man  with  brains  enough 
to  save  it.  That  is  mortifying  ;  but  what  signifies  who 
has  the  undoing  it  ?  I  seldom  suffer  myself  to  think  on 
this  subject :  my  patriotism  could  do  no  good,  and  my 
philosophy  can  make  me  be  at  peace." 

The  concluding  lines  of  the  above  extract  refer  to  the 
writer's  recent  retirement  from  the  House  of  Commons. 
In  the  spring  of  the  preceding  year,  Walpole  had  an- 
nounced that  he  should  not  again  ask  the  suffrages  of 
the  Lynn  burgesses,  stating  as  his  reasons  the  declining 
state  of  his  health  and  his  wish  to  withdraw  from  all 
public  business  ;  and  though  his  health  had  improved  in 
the  interval,  the  General  Election  of  1768  found  him 
fixed  in  his  decision.  Whatever  may  have  been  the 
real  motives  of  his  conduct,  there  is  no  indication  in  his 
Letters  that  he  ever  regretted  the  course  he  had  taken. 
In  June,  1769,  he  writes  from  Strawberry  Hill :  "  I  am 
come  hither  for  two  months,  very  busy  with  finishing 
my  round  tower,  which  has  stood  still  these  five  years, 
and  with  an  enchanting  new  cottage  that  I  have  built, 
and  other  little  works.  In  August,  I  shall  go  to  Paris 
for  six  weeks.  In  short,  I  am  delighted  with  having 
bid  adieu  to  Parliament  and  politics,  and  with  doing 
nothing  but  what  I  like  all  the  year  round."  But  the 
season  was  again  rainy.  A  few  days  later,  we  have  a 
letter  to  Cole,  who  was  then  settled  at  Waterbeach, 
near  Cambridge : 


]\  la  dame  dti  Deffand.  105 

"Strawberry  Hill,  Monday,  June  26,  1769. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  yes,  I  shall  like  Thursday  or  Friday,  6th 
or  7th,  exceedingly ;  I  shall  like  your  staying  with  me 
two  days  exceedinglier  ;  and  longer  exceedingliest :  and 
I  will  carry  you  back  to  Cambridge  on  our  pilgrimage  to 
Ely.  But  I  should  not  at  all  hke  to  be  catched  in  the 
glories  of  an  installation,*  and  find  myself  a  doctor, 
before  I  knew  where  I  was.  It  will  be  much  more 
agreeable  to  find  the  whole  c^/>z^f  asleep,  digesting  turtle, 
dreaming  of  bishoprics,  and  humming  old  catches  of 
Anacreon,  and  scraps  of  Corelli.  I  wish  Mr.  Gray  may 
not  be  set  out  for  the  north  ;  which  is  rather  the  case 
than  setting  out  for  the  summer.  We  have  no  summers, 
I  think,  but  what  we  raise,  like  pine-apples,  by  fire. 
My  hay  is  an  absolute  water-souchy,  and  teaches  me  how 
to  feel  for  you.  You  are  quite  in  the  right  to  sell  your 
fief  in  Marshland.  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  take 
one  step  more,  and  quit  Marshland.  We  live,  at  least, 
on  te  ra  firma  in  this  part  of  the  world,  and  can  saunter 
out  without  stilts.  Item,  we  do  not  wade  into  pools, 
and  call  it  going  upon  the  water,  and  get  sore  throats. 
I  trust  yours  is  better ;  but  I  recollect  this  is  not  the 
first  you  have  complained  of.  Pray  be  not  incorrigible, 
but  come  to  shore." 

At  the  end  of  August  he  is  in  Paris  with  Madame  du 
Deffand.  "  My  dear  old  woman,"  he  writes,  "  is  in 
better  health  than  when  I  left  her,  and  her  spirits  so 

*  The  installation  of  the  Duke  of  Grafton  as  Chancellor  of  the 
University  of  Cambridge.     Gray  wrote  the  Ode  for  the  occasion. 


io6  Jlladamc  du  Deffand. 

increased,  that  I  tell  her  she  will  go  mad  with  age. 
When  they  ask  her  how  old  she  is,  she  answers,  '  J'ai 
soixante  et  mille  ans.'  "  In  a  letter  written  to  George 
Montagu  a  week  afterwards,  we  have  a  description  of 
this  true  Frenchwoman : 

"  Your  two  letters  flew  here  together  in  a  breath.  I 
shall  answer  the  article  of  business  first.  I  could  cer- 
tainly buy  many  things  for  you  here,  that  you  would 
like,  the  reliques  of  the  last  age's  magnificence;  but 
since  my  Lady  Holdernesse  invaded  the  Custom-House 
with  an  hundred  and  fourteen  gowns,  in  the  reign  of 
that  two-penny  monarch  George  Grenville,  the  ports 
are  so  guarded,  that  not  a  soul  but  a  smuggler  can 
smuggle  anything  into  England  ;  and  I  suppose  you 
would  not  care  to  pay  seventy-five  per  cent,  on  second- 
hand commodities.  All  I  transported  three  years  ago, 
was  conveyed  under  the  canon  of  the  Duke  of  Rich- 
mond. I  have  no  interest  in  our  present  representa- 
tive ;  nor  if  I  had,  is  he  returning.  Plate,  of  all  earthly 
vanities,  is  the  most  impassable  :  it  is  not  counterband 
in  its  metallic  capacity,  but  totally  so  in  its  personal : 
and  the  officers  of  the  Custom-House  not  being  philoso- 
phers enough  to  separate  the  substance  from  the  super- 
ficies, brutally  hammer  both  to  pieces,  and  return  you — 
only  the  intrinsic  ;  a  compensation  which  you,  who  are 
no  member  of  Parliament,  would  not,  I  trow,  be  satis- 
fied with.  Thus  I  doubt  you  must  retrench  your 
generosity  to  yourself,  unless  you  can  contract  it  into 
an  Elzevir  size,  and  be  content  with  anything  one  can 
bring  in  one's  pocket. 


JUadaiue  du  Dejfuiid.  to/ 

"  My  dear  old  friend  was  charmed  with  3'our  mention 
of  her,  and  made  me  vow  to  return  you  a  thousand 
comphments.  She  cannot  conceive  why  you  will  not 
step  hither.  Feeling  in  herself  no  difference  between 
the  spirits  of  twenty-three  and  seventy-three,  she  thinks 
there  Is  no  Impediment  to  doing  whatever  one  will,  but 
the  want  of  eyesight.  If  she  had  that,  I  am  persuaded 
no  consideration  would  prevent  her  making  me  a  visit 
at  Strawberry  Hill.  She  makes  songs,  sings  them,  and 
remembers  all  that  ever  were  made  ;  and,  having  lived 
from  the  most  agreeable  to  the  most  reasoning  age,  has 
all  that  was  amiable  in  the  last,  all  that  Is  sensible  in 
this,  without  the  vanity  of  the  former,  or  the  pedant 
impertinence  of  the  latter.  I  have  heard  her  dispute 
with  all  sorts  of  people,  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  and 
never  knew  her  In  the  wrong.  She  humbles  the  learned, 
sets  right  their  disciples,  and  finds  conversation  for 
everybody.  Affectionate  as  Madame  de  Sevigne,  she 
has  none  of  her  prejudices,  but  a  more  universal  taste ; 
and,  with  the  most  delicate  frame,  her  spirits  hurry  her 
through  a  life  of  fatigue  that  would  kill  me,  If  I  was  to 
continue  here.  If  we  return  by  one  In  the  morning 
from  suppers  In  the  countr}^,  she  proposes  driving  to  the 
Boulevard  or  to  the  Foire  St.  Ovide,  because  It  Is  too 
early  to  go  to  bed.  I  had  great  difficulty  last  night  to 
persuade  her,  though  she  was  not  well,  not  to  sit  up  till 
between  two  and  three  for  the  comet ;  for  which  purpose 
she  had  appointed  an  astronomer  to  bring  his  telescopes 
to  the  president  Renault's,  as  she  thought  It  would 
amuse  me.     In  short,  her  goodness  to  me  Is  so  excessive, 


lo8  HiLinaji  Vanity.     . 

that  I  feel  unashamed  at  producing  my  withered  person 
in  a  round  of  diversions,  which  I  have  quitted  at  home. 
I  tell  a  story;  I  do  feel  ashamed,  and  sigh  to  be  in  my 
quiet  castle  and  cottage ;  but  it  costs  me  many  a  pang, 
when  I  reflect  that  I  shall  probably  never  have  resolu- 
tion enough  to  take  another  journey  to  see  this  best  and 
sincerest  of  friends,  who  loves  me  as  much  as  my  mother 
did  !  but  it  is  idle  to  look  forward — what  is  next  year  ? 
— a  bubble  that  may  burst  for  her  or  me,  before  even 
the  flying  3-ear  can  hurry  to  the  end  of  its  alma- 
nack !  .  .  . 

"Adieu,  my  t'other  dear  old  friend!  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  I  see  you  almost  as  seldom  as  I  do  Madame  du 
Deffand.  However,  it  is  comfortable  to  reflect  that  we 
have  not  changed  to  each  other  for  some  five-and-thirty 
years,  and  neither  you  nor  I  haggle  about  naming  so 
ancient  a  term.  I  made  a  visit  yesterday  to  the  Abbess 
of  Panthemont,  General  Oglethorpe's  niece,  and  no 
chicken.  I  inquired  after  her  mother,  Madame  de 
Mezieres,  and  thought  I  might  to  a  spiritual  votary  to 
immortality  venture  to  say,  that  her  mother  must  be 
very  old  ;  she  interrupted  me  tartly,  and  said,  no,  her 
mother  had  been  married  extremely  young.  Do  but 
think  of  its  seeming  important  to  a  saint  to  sink  a 
wrinkle  of  her  own  through  an  iron  grate  !  Oh  !  we  are 
ridiculous  animals  ;  and  if  angels  have  any  fun  in  them, 
how  we  must  divert  them." 

Once  more  in  England,  he  announces  his  return  to 
the  same  friend : 


The  Banks  of  the  Thcvncs.  109 

"Strawberry  Hill,  Oct.  i6,  1769. 

**  I  arrived  at  my  own  Louvre  last  Wednesday  night, 
and  am  now  at  my  Versailles.  Your  last  letter  reached 
me  but  two  days  before  I  left  Paris,  for  I  have  been  an 
age  at  Calais  and  upon  the  sea.  I  could  execute  no 
commission  for  you,  and,  in  truth,  you  gave  me  no 
explicit  one  ;  but  I  have  brought  you  a  bit  of  china,  and 
beg  you  will  be  content  with  a  little  present,  instead  of 
a  bargain.  Said  china  is,  or  will  be  soon,  in  the 
Custom-House  ;  but  I  shall  have  it,  I  fear,  long  before 
you  come  to  London.  .  .  . 

"  I  feel  myself  here  like  a  swan,  that,  after  living  six 
weeks  in  a  nasty  pool  upon  a  common,  is  got  back  into 
its  own  Thames.  I  do  nothing  but  plume  and  clean 
myself,  and  enjoy  the  verdure  and  silent  waves.  Neat- 
ness and  greenth  are  so  essential  in  my  opinion  to  the 
country,  that  in  France,  where  I  see  nothing  but  chalk 
and  dirty  peasants,  I  seem  in  a  terrestrial  purgatory 
that  is  neither  town  nor  country.  The  face  of  England 
is  so  beautiful,  that  I  do  not  believe  Tempe  or  Arcadia 
were  half  so  rural ;  for  both  lying  in  hot  climates,  must 
have  wanted  the  turf  of  our  lawns.  It  is  unfortunate  to 
have  so  pastoral  a  taste,  when  I  w^ant  a  cane  more  than 
a  crook.  We  are  absurd  creatures ;  at  twenty,  I  loved 
nothing  but  London." 

The  winter  of  1769-70  Walpole  spent  as  usual  in 
London.  He  now  moralizes  on  masquerades  in  the 
tone  of  an  ancient : 

*•'  It  is  very  lucky,  seeing  how  much  of  the  tiger  enters 


no  A  Subscription  Masquerade. 

into  the  human  composition,  that  there  should  be  a 
good  dose  of  the  monkey  too.  If  iEsop  had  not  lived 
so  many  centuries  before  the  introduction  of  mas- 
querades and  operas,  he  would  certainly  have  antici- 
pated my  observation,  and  worked  it  up  into  a  capital 
fable.  As  we  still  trade  upon  the  stock  of  the  ancients, 
we  seldom  deal  in  any  other  manufacture  ;  and,  though 
nature,  after  new  combinations,  lets  forth  new  charac- 
teristics, it  is  very  rarely  that  they  are  added  to  the  old 
fund ;  else  how  could  so  striking  a  remark  have  escaped 
being  made,  as  mine,  on  the  joint  ingredients  of  tiger 
and  monkey  ?  In  France  the  latter  predominates,  in 
England  the  former ;  but,  like  Orozmades  and  Ari- 
manius,  they  get  the  better  by  turns.  The  bankruptcy 
in  France,  and  the  rigours  of  the  new  Comptroller- 
General,  are  half  forgotten,  in  the  expectation  of  a 
new  opera  at  the  new  theatre.  Our  civil  war*  has  been 
lulled  to  sleep  by  a  Subscription  Masquerade,  for  which 
the  House  of  Commons  literally  adjourned  j'esterday. 
Instead  of  Fairfaxes  and  Cromwells,  we  have  had  a 
crowd  of  Henry  the  Eighths,  Wolseys,  Vandykes,  and 
Harlequins  ;  and  because  Wilkes  was  not  mask  enough, 
we  had  a  man  dressed  like  him,  with  a  visor,  in  imita- 
tion of  his  squint,  and  a  Cap  of  Libert}'  on  a  pole.  In 
short,  sixteen  or  eighteen  young  lords  have  given  the 
town  a  Masquerade ;  and  politics,  for  the  last  fortnight, 
were  forced  to  give  way  to  habit-makers.  The  ball  was 
last  night  at  Soho ;  and,  if  possible,  was  more  magnifi- 

*  The  proceedings  of  the  Hoii?e  of  Comir.ons  against  Wilkes 
had  just  produced  a  Ministerial  crisis. 


A  Stibscription  Masquerade.  1 1 1 

cent  than  the  King  of  Denmark's.  The  Bishops 
opposed :  he  of  London  formally  remonstrated  to  the 
King,  who  did  not  approve  it,  but  could  not  help  him. 
The  consequence  was,  that  four  divine  vessels  belonging 
to  the  holy  fathers,  alias  their  wives,  were  at  this  Mas- 
querade. Monkey  again  !  A  fair  widow,*  who  once 
bore  my  whole  name,  and  now  bears  half  of  it,  was 
there,  with  one  of  those  whom  the  newspapers  call 
great  personages — he  dressed  like  Edward  the  Fourth,  she 
like  Elizabeth  Woodville,  in  grey  and  pearls,  with  a  black 
veil.  Methinks  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  find  out  the 
meaning  of  those  masks. 

*'  As  one  of  my  ancient  passions,  formerly,  was  Mas- 
querades, I  had  a  large  trunk  of  dresses  by  me.  I 
dressed  out  a  thousand  young  Conwayst  and  Cholmon- 
deleys,!  and  went  with  more  pleasure  to  see  them 
pleased  than  when  I  formerly  delighted  in  that  diver- 
sion myself.  It  has  cost  me  a  great  headache,  and  I 
shall  probably  never  go  to  another.  A  symptom  ap- 
peared of  the  change  that  has  happened  in  the  people. 

**  The  mob  was  beyond  all  belief :  they  held  flambeaux 
to  the  windows  of  every  coach,  and  demanded  to  have 
the  masks  pulled  off  and  put  on  at  their  pleasure,  but 
with  extreme  good-humour  and  civility.  I  was  with 
my  Lady  Hertford  and  two  of  her  daughters,  in  their 
coach :    the   mob   took   me    for    Lord    Hertford,    and 

*  Maria  Walpole,  Countess  Dowager  of  Waldegrave,  who  had 
now  secretly  married  William  Henry,  Duke  of  Gloucester. 

t  Sons  of  Francis,  Earl  of  Hertford,  Mr.  Walpole's  cousin- 
ijerman, 

J  Mr.  Walpok's  nephews. 


1 1 2  Extravagance  of  the  Age. 

huzzaed  and  blessed  me  !  One  fellow  cried  out,  '  Are 
you  for  Wilkes  ?'  another  said,  *  You  fool,  what  has 
Wilkes  to  do  with  a  Masquerade  ?' 

"  In  good  truth,  that  stock  is  fallen  very  low.  The 
Court  has  recovered  a  majority  of  seventy-five  in  the 
House  of  Commons  ;  and  the  party  has  succeeded  so  ill 
in  the  Lords,  that  my  Lord  Chatham  has  betaken  him- 
self to  the  gout,  and  appears  no  more.  What  Wilkes 
may  do  at  his  enlargement  in  April,  I  don't  know,  but 
his  star  is  certainly  much  dimmed.  The  distress  of 
France,  the  injustice  they  have  been  induced  to  commit 
on  public  credit,  immense  bankruptcies,  and  great 
bankers  hanging  and  drov/ning  themselves,  are  comfort- 
able objects  in  our  prospect ;  for  one  tiger  is  charmed  if 
another  tiger  loses  his  tail." 

Again,    he    descants    on    the    extravagance    of    the 

"  What  do  you  think  of  a  winter-Ranelagh*  erecting 
in  Oxford  Road,  at  the  expense  of  sixty  thousand 
pounds  ?  The  new  Bank,  including  the  value  of  the 
p-round,  and  of  the  houses  demolished  to  make  room  for 
it,  will  cost  three  hundred  thousand  ;  and  erected,  as 
my  Lady  Townleyf  saj-s,  hy  sober  citizens  too  !  I  have 
touched  before  to  5-ou  on  the  incredible  profusion  of  our 
young  men  of  fashion.  I  know  a  younger  brother  who 
literally  gives  a  flower-woman  half  a  guinea  every  morn- 
ing for  a  bunch  of  roses  for  the  nosegay  in  his  button-hole. 
There  has  lately  been  an  auction  of  stuffed  birds ;  and, 

*  The  Paniheon. 

t  In  the  con:edy  of'"  The  Provoked  Husband." 


Exti'avagance  of  the  Age.  1 1 3 

as  natural  history  is  in  fashion,  there  are  physicians  and 
others  who  paid  forty  and  fifty  guineas  for   a  single 
Chinese  pheasant :    you  may  buy  a  live  one  for  five. 
After  this,  it  is  not  extraordinary  that  pictures  should 
be  dear.     We  have  at  present  three  exhibitions.     One 
West,*  who  paints  history  in  the  taste  of  Poussin,  gets 
three  hundred  pounds  for  a  piece  not  too  large  to  hang 
over  a  chimney.     He  has  merit,  but  is  hard  and  heavy, 
and  far  unworthy  of  such  prices.     The  rage  to  see  these 
exhibitions  is  so  great,  that  sometimes  one  cannot  pass 
through  the  streets  where  they  are.    But  it  is  incredible 
what  sums  are  raised  by  mere  exhibitions  of  anything — 
a  new  fashion  ;  and  to  enter  at  which  3'ou  pay  a  shilling 
or  half-a-crown.     Another  rage  is  for  prints  of  English 
portraits  :    I  have  been  collecting   them   above  thirty 
years,  and  originally  never  gave  for  a  mezzotinto  above 
one  or  two  shillings.     The  lowest  are  now  a  crown  ; 
most,  from  half  a  guinea  to  a  guinea.    Lately,  I  assisted 
a   clergyman    [Granger]   in  compiling  a   catalogue   of 
them  ;  since  the  publication,  scarce  heads  in  books,  not 
worth  threepence,  will  sell  for  five  guineas.     Then  we 
have  Etruscan  vases,  made  of  earthenware,  in  Stafford- 
shire, [by  Wedgwood]   from  two  to  five  guineas  ;  and 
OY  moulu,  never  made  here  before,  which  succeeds  so 
well,  that  a  teakettle,  which  the  inventor  offered  for  one 
hundred  guineas,  sold  by  auction  for  one  hundred  and 
thirty.     In  short,  we  are  at  the  height  of  extravagance 
and  improvements,  for  we  do  improve  rapidly  in  taste  as 
well  as  in  the  former.     I  cannot  say  so  much  for  our 

*  Benjamin  West,  afterwards,  at  Sir  Joshua's  death,  President  of 
the  Royal  Academy  of  Arts. 

8 


1 14  The  Pantheoji. 

genius.  Poetry  is  gone  to  bed,  or  into  our  prose ;  we 
are  like  the  Romans  in  that  too.  If  we  have  the  arts  of 
the  Antonines, — we  have  the  fustian  also." 

Our  ancestors  seem  to  have  been  much  impressed 
with  the  splendour  of  the  London  Pantheon.  Walpole 
recurs  to  the  subject  :  "  If  we  laugh  at  the  French,  they 
stare  at  us.  Our  enormous  luxury  and  expense  astonish 
them.  I  carried  their  Ambassador  and  a  Comte  de 
Levi  the  other  morning  to  see  the  new  winter-Ranelagh 
[the  Pantheon]  in  Oxford  Road,  which  is  almost 
finished.  It  amazed  me  myself.  Imagine  Balbec  in 
all  its  glory  !  The  pillars  are  of  artificial  giallo  antico. 
The  ceilings,  even  of  the  passages,  are  of  the  most 
beautiful  stuccos  in  the  best  taste  of  grotesque.  The 
ceilings  of  the  ball-rooms,  and  the  panels,  painted  like 
Raphael's  loggias  in  the  Vatican.  A  dome  like  the 
Pantheon,  glazed.  Monsieur  de  Guisnes  said  to  me, 
'  Ce  n'est  qu'a  Londres  qu'on  pent  faire  tout  cela.'  " 
What  a  sermon  would  our  moralist  have  preached,  could 
he  have  foreseen  that,  in  the  reign  of  George  Ill's  grand- 
daughter, this  English  Balbec  would  become  a  reposi- 
tory for  cheap  wines  ! 

In  July,  1770,  Walpole  received  a  command  to  attend 
the  Princess  Amelia  on  a  visit  to  Stowe.  He  describes 
what  occurred  to  George  Montagu  : 

"  The  party  passed  off  much  better  than  I  expected. 
A  Princess  at  the  head  of  a  very  small  set  for  five  days 
together  did  not  promise  well.  However,  she  was  very 
good-humoured  and  e^vsv,  and  dispensed  with  a  large 


Princess  Amelia  at  St  owe.  1 1 5 

quantity  of  etiquette.  Lady  Temple  is  good-nature 
itself,  my  Lord  was  very  civil,  Lord  Besborough  is  made 
to  suit  all  sorts  of  people,  Lady  Mary  Coke  respects 
royalty  too  much  not  to  be  very  condescending,  Lady 
Anne  Howard*  and  Mrs.  jMiddleton  filled  up  the  draw- 
ing-room, or  rather  made  it  out,  and  I  was  so  deter- 
mined to  carry  it  off  as  well  as  I  could,  and  happened 
to  be  in  such  good  spirits,  and  took  such  care  to  avoid 
politics,  that  we  laughed  a  great  deal,  and  had  not  a 
cloud  the  whole  time. 

**  We  breakfasted  at  half  an  hour  after  nine ;  but  the 
Princess  did  not  appear  till  it  was  finished ;  then  we 
walked  in  the  garden,  or  drove  about  it  in  cabriolets,  till 
it  was  time  to  dress  ;  dined  at  three,  which,  though 
properly  proportioned  to  the  smallness  of  company  to 
avoid  ostentation,  lasted  a  vast  while,  as  the  Princess 
eats  and  talks  a  great  deal ;  then  again  into  the  garden 
till  past  seven,  when  we  came  in,  drank  tea  and  coffee, 
and  played  at  pharaoh  till  ten,  when  the  Princess 
retired,  and  we  went  to  supper,  and  before  twelve  to 
bed.  You  see  there  was  great  sameness  and  little 
vivacity  in  all  this.  It  was  a  little  broken  by  fishing, 
and  going  round  the  park  one  of  the  mornings  ;  but,  in 
reality,  the  number  of  buildings  and  variety  of  scenes  in 
the  garden,  made  each  day  different  from  the  rest,  and 
my  meditations  on  so  historic  a  spot  prevented  my 
being  tired.  Every  acre  brings  to  one's  mind  some 
instance  of  the  parts  or  pedantry,  of  the  taste  or  want 

*  Lady  Anne  Howard,  daughter  of  Henry,  fourth  Earl,  and  sister 
of  Frederick,  fifth  Earl  of  Carlisle. 


ii5     .  Princess  AniclLi  at  Stoiuc. 

of  taste,  of  the  ambition  or  love  of  fame,  or  greatness  or 
miscarriages,  of  those  that  have  inhabited,  decorated, 
planned,  or  visited  the  place.  Pope,  Congreve,  Van- 
brugh,  Kent,  Gibbs,  Lord  Cobham,  Lord  Chesterfield, 
the  mob  of  nephews,  the  Lytteltons,  Grenvilles,  Wests, 
Leonidas  Glover,  and  Wilkes,  the  late  Prince  of  Wales, 
the  King  of  Denmark,  Princess  Amelia,  and  the  proud 
monuments  of  Lord  Chatham's  services,  now  enshrined 
there,  then  anathematised  there,  and  now  again  com- 
manding there,  with  the  Temple  of  Friendship,*  like 
the  Temple  of  Janus,  sometimes  open  to  war,  and 
sometimes  shut  up  in  factious  cabals — all  these  images 
crowd  upon  one's  memory,  and  add  visionary  personages 
to  the  charming  scenes,  that  are  so  enriched  with  fanes 
and  temples,  that  the  real  prospects  are  little  less  than 
visions  themselves. 

"  On  Wednesday  night,  a  small  Vauxhall  was  acted 
for  us  at  the  grotto  in  the  Elysian  fields,  which  was 
illuminated  with  lamps,  as  were  the  thicket  and  two 
little  barks  on  the  lake.  With  a  little  exaggeration,  I 
could  make  you  believe  that  nothing  ever  was  so  de- 
lightful. The  idea  was  really  pretty ;  but,  as  my  feel- 
ings have  lost  something  of  their  romantic  sensibility, 
I  did  not  quite  enjoy  such  an  entertainment  al  fresco  so 
much  as  I  should  have  done  twenty  years  ago.  The 
evening  was  more  than  cool,  and  the  destined  spot  any- 
thing but  dry.     There  were  not  half  lamps  enough,  and 

*  The  Temple  of  Friendship,  like  the  ruins  in  the  Campo  Vaccino, 
is  reduced  to  a  single  column  at  Stowe. —  Walpole  to  Crait/oid,  bik 
March,  1766. 


Princess  Amelia  at  Stoivc.  1 1  7 

no  music  but  an  ancient  militia-man,  who  played  cruelly 
on  a  squeaking  tabor  and  pipe.  As  our  procession 
descended  the  vast  flight  of  steps  into  the  garden,  in 
which  was  assembled  a  crowd  of  people  from  Bucking- 
ham and  the  neighbouring  villages  to  see  the  Princess 
and  the  show,  the  moon  shining  very  bright,  I  could  not 
help  laughing  as  I  surveyed  our  troop,  which,  instead  of 
tripping  lightly  to  such  an  Arcadian  entertainment,  were 
hobbling  down  by  the  balustrades,  wrapped  up  in  cloaks 
and  great-coats,  for  fear  of  catching  cold.  The  Earl, 
you  know,  is  bent  double,  the  Countess  very  lame ;  I 
am  a  miserable  walker,  and  the  Princess,  though  as 
strong  as  a  Brunswick  lion,  makes  no  figure  in  going 
down  fifty  stone  stairs.  Except  Lady  Anne,  and  by 
courtesy  Lady  Mary,  we  were  none  of  us  young  enough 
for  a  pastoral.  We  supped  in  the  grotto,  which  is  as 
proper  to  this  climate  as  a  sea-coal  fire  would  be  in  the 
dog-days  at  Tivoli. 

"But  the  chief  entertainment  of  the  week,  at  least 
what  was  so  to  the  Princess,  is  an  arch,  which  Lord 
Temple  has  erected  to  her  honour  m  the  most  enchant- 
ing of  all  picturesque  scenes.  It  is  inscribed  on  one 
side,  '  Amelia  Sophia,  Aug.,'  and  has  a  medallion  of 
her  on  the  other.  It  is  placed  on  an  eminence  at  the 
top  of  the  Elysian  fields,  in  a  grove  of  orange-trees. 
You  come  to  it  on  a  sudden,  and  are  startled  with 
delight  on  looking  through  it :  you  at  once  see,  through 
a  glade,  the  river  winding  at  the  bottom  ;  from  which  a 
thicket  rises,  arched  over  with  trees,  but  opened,  and 
discovering  a  hillock  full  of  hay-cocks,  be3'ond  which  in 


1 1 S  George  Montagu. 

front  is  the  Palladian  bridge,  and  again  over  that  a 
larger  hill  crowned  with  the  castle.  It  is  a  tall  land- 
scape framed  by  the  arch  and  the  overbowering  trees, 
and  comprehending  more  beauties  of  light,  shade, 
and  buildings,  than  any  picture  of  Albano  I  ever  saw. 

"  Between  the  flattery  and  the  prospect,  the  Princess 
was  really  in  Elysium  :  she  visited  her  arch  four  and 
five  times  every  day,  and  could  not  satiate  herself  with 
it.  The  statues  of  Apollo  and  the  Muses  stand  on  each 
side  of  the  arch.  One  day  she  found  in  Apollo's  hand 
the  following  lines,  which  I  had  written  for  her,  and 
communicated  to  Lord  Temple." 

We  spare  our  readers  the  verses.  The  letter  from 
which  we  have  been  quoting  is  one  of  the  last  of  Wal- 
pole's  letters  to  Montagu.  A  coolness  arose  the  same 
year  between  the  two  friends,  either  without  a  cause,  or 
for  some  cause  which  has  not  been  explained,  and  con- 
tinued until  Montagu's  death  in  1780.*  That  Walpole 
regretted  the  breach  his  tone  in  referring  to  it  shows, 
and  his  readers  have  reason  to  regret  it  likewise,  for  his 
letters  to  Montagu  display  more  warmth  of  feeling  and 

*  'He  dropped  me,  partly  from  politics  and  partly  from  caprice, 
for  we  never  had  any  quarrel  ;  but  he  was  grown  an  excessive 
humourist,  and  had  shed  almost  all  his  friends  as  well  as  me.  He 
had  parts,  and  infinite  vivacity  and  originality  till  of  late  years  ;  and 
it  grieved  me  much  that  he  had  changed  towards  me  after  a  friend- 
ship of  between  thirty  and  forty  years.'  This  is  Walpole's  account 
written  to  Cole  the  day  after  Montagu's  death.  But  Montagu's  last 
letter  to  Walpole,  dated  October  6,  1770,  is  cordial  and  even 
affectionate  in  tone  ;  while  in  Walpole's  preceding  letter  there  are 
r^ome  signs  of  pique,  and  the  letter  from  Horace  which  ends  the 
correspondence  is  both  short  and  cold. 


Lady  Ossory.  119 

simplicity  of  style  than  any  others  in  his  published 
correspondence.  A  few  months  before  Montagu  drops 
out  of  sight,  Lady  Ossory  appears  in  the  list  of  the  ladies 
to  whom  Walpole  addressed  sprightly  letters  in  a  strain 
of  oddly  mingled  ceremony  and  familiarity.  He  had 
been  on  terms  of  friendship  with  her  before  her  divorce 
from  the  Duke  of  Grafton ;  in  his  letters  of  that  period 
he  frequently  refers  to  her  as  his  Duchess,  and  speaks 
of  following  her  and  loo  all  over  the  kingdom.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  he  often  wrote  to  her  at  that  time, 
but  the  first  of  his  pubhshed  letters  to  her  is  dated  after 
her  marriage  with  Lord  Ossory.  Here  are  two  letters 
to  her,  one  describing  the  damage  done  to  his  castle  by 
an  explosion  of  powder-mills  at  Hounslow,  the  other 
the  sea  of  troubles  into  which  he  was  plunged  when  his 
nephew,  Lord  Orford,  was  seized  with  insanity.  The  first 
letter  was  be  un  in  London  on  the  5th  January,  1772  : 

"  I  was  waked  very  early  this  morning,  by  half  an 
hour  after  nine ;  (I  mean  this  for  flattery,  for  Mr.  Crau- 
ford  says  your  ladyship  does  not  rise  till  one)  ;  by  the 
way,  I  was  in  the  middle  of  a  charming  dream.  I 
thought  I  was  in  the  King's  Library  in  Paris,  and  in  a 
gallery  full  of  books  of  prints,  containing  nothing  but 
jHes  and  decorations  of  scenery.  I  took  down  a  long 
Roll,  on  which  was  painted,  on  vellum,  all  the  cere- 
monies of  the  present  reign  :  there  was  the  young  King 
walking  to  his  coronation ;  the  Regent  before,  who  I 
thought  was  alive.  I  said  to  him,  your  Royal  Highness 
has  a  great  air ;  he  seemed  extremely  flattered,  when 
the  house  shook  as  if  the  devil  were  come  for  him.     I 


I20  Explosion  of  Powder-Mills. 

had  scarce  recovered  my  vexation  at  being  so  disturbed, 
when  the  door  of  my  room  shook  so  violently  that  I 
thought  somebody  was  breaking  it  open,  though  I  knew 
it  was  not  locked.  It  was  broad  daylight,  but  I  did  not 
know  that  housebreaking  might  not  be  still  improving.  I 
cried  out  *  Who  is  there  ?'  Nobody  answered.  In  less 
than  another  minute,  the  door  rattled  and  shook  still 
more  robberaceously.  I  call  again — no  reply.  I  rung  : 
the  housemaid  ran  in  as  pale  as  white  ashes,  if  you  ever 
saw  such,  and  cried,  *  Goodness  !  Sir,  I  am  frightened 
out  of  my  wits  :  there  has  been  an  earthquake  !'  Oh  !  I 
believed  her  immediately.  Philip  [his  valet]  came  in, 
and,  being  a  Swiss  philosopher,  insisted  it  was  only  the 
wind.  I  sent  him  down  to  collect  opinions  in  the 
street.  He  returned,  and  owned  every  body  in  this  and 
the  neighbouring  streets  were  persuaded  their  houses 
had  been  breaking  open  ;  or  had  ran  out  of  them,  think- 
ing there  was  an  earthquake.  Alas !  it  was  much 
worse  ;  for  you  know.  Madam,  our  earthquakes  are  as 
harmless  as  a  new-born  child.  At  one,  came  in  a  courier 
from  Margaret  [his  housekeeper]  to  tell  me  that  live 
powder-mills  had  been  blown  up  at  Hounslow,  at  half 
an  hour  after  nine  this  morning,  had  almost  shook  Mrs. 
Clive,  and  had  broken  parts  or  all  of  eight  of  my  painted 
windows,  besides  other  damage.  This  is  a  cruel  misfor- 
tune :  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  repair  it !  I  shall  go  down 
to-morrow,  and  on  Thursday  will  finish  my  report. 

"  Wednesday,  8th. 
"  Well !    Madam,    I   am    returned    from    my    poor 
shattered  castle,  and  never  did  it  look  so  Gothic  in  its 


-^  Explosion  of  Powder-Mills.  121 

born  days.  You  would  swear  it  had  been  besieged  by 
the  Presbyterians  in  the  Civil  Wars,  and  that,  finding 
it  impregnable,  they  had  vented  their  holy  malice  on 
the  painted  glass.  As  this  gunpowder-army  passed  on, 
it  demolished  Mr.  Hindley's  fine  bow-window  of  ancient 
Scripture  histories  ;  and  only  because  your  ladyship  is 
my  ally,  broke  the  large  window  over  your  door,  and 
■fvrenched  off  a  lock  in  your  kitchen.  Margaret  sits  by 
the  waters  of  Babylon,  and  weeps  over  Jerusalem.  I 
shall  pity  those  she  shows  the  house  to  next  summer, 
for  her  story  is  as  long  and  deplorable  as  a  chapter  of 
casualties  in  *  Baker's  Chronicle ;'  yet  she  was  not 
taken  quite  unprepared,  for  one  of  the  Bantam  hens 
crowed  on  Sunday  morning,  and  the  chandler's  wife 
told  her  three  weeks  ago,  when  the  barn  was  blown 
down,  that  ill-luck  never  comes  single.  She  is,  how- ' 
ever,  very  thankful  that  the  China  Room  has  escaped, 
and  says.  Heaven  has  always  been  the  best  creature  in 
the  world  to  her.  I  dare  not  tell  her  how  many 
churches  I  propose  to  rob,  to  repair  my  losses." 

The  second  is  dated  : 

"Strawberry  Hill,  past  midnight,  June  li,  1773. 

"  Unless  I  borrow  from  my  sleep,  I  can  certainly 
have  no  time  to  please  myself.  I  am  this  minute 
arrived  here.  Madam,  and  being  the  flower  of  chivalry, 
I  sacrifice,  hke  a  true  knight,  the  moments  I  steal  from 
my  rest  to  gallantry.  Save  me,  or  I  shall  become  a 
solicitor  in  Chancery,  unless  business  and  fatigue  over- 
set my  head,  and  reduce  m.e  to  my  poor  nephew's  state. 
Indeed,  I  am  half  hurried  out  of  my  senses.     Think  of 


122  Bitsiness  and  Plcastire. 

me  putting  queries  to  lawyers,  up  to  the  ears  in  mort- 
gages, wills,  settlements,  and  contingent  remainders. 
My  lawyer  is  sent  away  that  I  may  give  audience  to  the 
Honourable  Mr.  Manners,  the  genuine,  if  not  the 
legitimate  son  of  Lord  William.  He  came  civilly 
yesterday  morning  to  ask  me  if  he  might  not  seize 
the  pictures  at  Houghton,  which  he  heard  were  worth 
threescore  thousand  pounds,  for  nine  thousand  he  has 
lent  Lord  Orford.  The  vulture's  throat  gaped  for  them 
all — what  a  scene  is  opened !  Houghton  will  be  a 
rookery  of  harpies — I  doubt  there  are  worse  scenes  to 
follow,  and  black  transactions !  What  occupation 
chalked  out  for  an  end  of  a  life  that  I  had  calculated 
for  tranquillity,  and  which  gout  and  law  are  to  divide 
between  them  ! 

"  In  the  midst  of  this  prospect  must  I  keep  up  the 
tone  of  the  world,  go  shepherdising  with  Macaronies, 
sit  up  at  loo  with  my  Lady  Hertford,  be  witness  to 
Miss  Pelham's  orgies,  dine  at  villas,  and  give  dinners  at 
my  own.  'Tis  well  my  spirits  and  resolution  have  sur- 
vived my  5^outh :  you  have  heard  how  my  mornings 
pass — now  for  the  rest.  Consultations  of  physicians, 
letters  to  Lady  Orford,  sent  for  to  my  brother,  decent 
visits  to  my  Court,*  sup  at  Lady  Powis's  on  \\'ednesda3-, 
drink  tea  with  all  the  fashionable  world  at  jNIr.  Fitzroy's 
farm  on  Thursday,  blown  by  a  north  v/ind  there  into 
the  house,  and  whisk  back  to  Lady  Hertford's;  this 
morning  to  my  brother's  to  hear  of  new  bills,  away  to 
dine  at  ,  Muswell   Hill,  with  the  Beauclerks,  and 

*  He  means  Gloucester  House. 


Business  and  Pleasure.  123 

florists  and  natural  historians,  Banks  and  Solanders  ; 
return  to  town,  step  to  ask  a  friend  whether  reversions 
of  jointures  can  be  left  away,  into  my  chaise  and  hither. 
To-morrow  come  two  Frenchmen  to  dinner — on  Mon- 
day, a  man  to  sell  me  two  acres  immensely  dear  as  a 
favour, — Philip  [his  valet] ,  I  cannot  help  it,  you  must 
go  and  put  him  off;  I  have  not  a  minute,  I  must  go 
back  to-morrow  night  to  meet  the  lawyers  at  my 
brother's  on  Sunday  morning.  Margaret  [his  house- 
keeper] comes  in.  *  Sir,  Lady  Bingham  desires  you 
will  dine  with  her  at  Hampton  Court  on  Tuesday ;'  I 
cannot.  *  Sir,  Captain  What-d'ye-call'm  has  sent  twice 
for  a  ticket  to  see  the  house  ' — Don't  plague  me  about 
tickets.  *  Sir,  a  servant  from  Isleworth  brought  this 
parcel.'  "What  on  earth  is  in  it  ? — only  printed  pro- 
posals for  writing  the  lives  of  all  British  writers,  and  a 
letter  to  tell  me  I  could  do  it  better  than  anybody,  but 
as  I  may  not  have  time.  Dr.  Berkenhout  proposes  to  do 
it,  and  will  write  mine  into  the  bargain,  if  I  will  but 
be  so  good  as  to  write  it  iirst  and  send  it  him,  and 
give  him  advice  for  the  conduct  of  his  work,  and  point 
out  materials,  and  furnish  him  with  anecdotes. 

'•■  My  dear  madam,  what  if  you  should  send  him  this 
letter  as  a  specimen  of  my  life  !  Alas,  alas !  I  have 
already  lost  my  lilac  tide.  I  have  heard  but  one  nightin- 
gale this  year,  and  my  farmer  cut  my  hay  last  Tuesday 
morning  without  telling  me,  just  as  I  was  going  to 
London.  Is  it  to  be  borne  ?  O  for  the  sang-froid  of  an 
Almackian,  who  pursues  his  delights, 

*  Though  in  the  jaws  of  ruin  and  codille  !'  " 


124  Lord  Nuneham. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Lord  Nuneham. — jNIadame  de  Sdvigne. — Charles  Fox. — Mrs.  Clive 
and  Cliveden.— Goldsmith  and  Garrick. — Dearth  of  News. — 
Madame  de  Trop. — A  Bunch  of  Grapes. — General  Election. — 
Perils  by  Land  and  Water. — Sir  Horace  Mann. — Lord  Clive. — 
The  History  of  Manners. — A  Traveller  from  Lima. — The  S(;avoir 
Vivre  Club. — Reflections  on  Life. — The  Pretender's  Happiness. 
—  Paris  Fashions. — Madame  Du  Deffand  ill. — Growth  of  London. 
— Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. — Change  in  Manners. — Our  Climate. 

The  following  letter  is  a  specimen  ot  Horace's  gossip- 
ing style  at  its  best.  It  is  addressed  to  Lord  Nuneham, 
who  was  in  Ireland  with  his  father,  Simon  Earl  Har- 
court,  the  then  Lord-Lieutenant.  Elsewhere  Walpole 
salutes  his  correspondent  as  *'  Your  O'Royal  High- 
ness"; 

"Strawberry  Hill,  Dec.  6,  1773. 
"  I  wanted  an  excuse  for  writing  to  you,  my  dear 
Lord,  and  your  letter  gives  me  an  opportunity  of  thank- 
ing you  ;  yet  that  is  not  all  I  wanted  to  say.  I  would, 
if  I  had  dared,  have  addressed  myself  to  Lady  Nune- 
ham, but  I  had  not  confidence  enough,  especially  on  so 
unworthy  a  subject  as  myself.  Lady  Temple,  my 
friend,  as  well  as  that  of  Human  Nature,  has  shown  me 
some   verses ;    but    alas  !     how    came    such   charming 


Madame  de  SeviQ-ne.  12 


<b 


poetry  to  be  thrown  away  on  so  unmeritorious  a  topic  ? 
I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  praise  the  hnes  most, 
or  censure  the  object  most.  Voltaire  makes  the  excel- 
lence of  French  poetry  consist  in  the  number  of  diffi- 
culties it  vanquishes.  Pope,  who  celebrated  Lord 
Bolingbroke,  could  not  have  succeeded,  did  not  suc- 
ceed, better ;  and  yet  I  hope  that,  though  a  meaner 
subject,  I  am  not  so  bad  an  one  !  Well !  with  all  my 
humility,  I  cannot  but  be  greatly  flattered.  Madame 
de  Sevigne  spread  her  leaf-gold  over  all  her  acquaint- 
ance, and  made  them  shine  ;  I  should  not  doubt  of  the 
same  glory,  when  Lady  Nuneham's  poetry  shall  come 
to  light,  if  my  own  works  were  but  burnt  at  the  same 
time ;  but  alas  !  Coulanges'  verses  were  preserved,  and 
so  may  my  writings  too.  Apropos,  my  Lord,  I  have 
got  a  new  volume  of  that  divine  woman's  letters.  Two 
are  entertaining  :  the  rest,  not  very  divine.  But  there 
is  an  application,  the  happiest,  the  most  exquisite,  that 
even  she  herself  ever  made !  She  is  joking  with  a 
President  de  Provence,  v/ho  was  hurt  at  becoming  a 
grandfather.  She  assures  him  there  is  no  such  great 
misfortune  in  it ;  *  I  have  experienced  the  case,'  says 
she,  '  and,  believe  me,  Pcctc,  non  dolct.'  If  you  are  not 
both  transported  with  this,  ye  are  not  the  Lord  and 
Lady  Nuneham  I  take  ye  to  be.  There  are  besides 
some  twenty  letters  of  Madame  de  Simiane,  who  shows 
she  would  not  have  degenerated  totally,  if  she  had  not 
lived  in  the  country,  or  had  anything  to  say.  At  the 
end  are  reprinted  Madame  de  Sevigne's  letters  on 
Fouquet's  Trial,  which  are  very  interesting. 


126  Charles  Fox. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  you  like  your  new  subjects,  but 
I  hear  they  are  extremely  content  with  their  Prince  and 
Princess.  I  ought  to  wish  your  Lordship  joy  of  all 
your  prosperities,  and  of  Mr.  Fludd's  baptism  into  the 
Catholic  or  Universal  Faith ;  but  I  reserve  public 
felicities  for  your  old  Drawing-Room  in  Leicester  Fields. 
Private  news  we  have  little  but  Lord  Carmarthen's  and 
Lord  Cranborne's  marriages,  and  the  approaching  one 
of  Lady  Bridget  Lane  and  Mr.  Tall-Match.  Lord 
Holland  has  given  Charles  Fox  a  draught  of  an  hundred 
thousand  pounds,  and  it  pays  all  his  debts,  but  a  trifle 
of  thirty  thousand  pounds,  and  those  of  Lord  Carlisle, 
Crewe,  and  Foley,  who  being  only  friends,  not  Jews, 
may  wait.  So  now  an}-  younger  son  may  justify  losing 
his  father's  and  elder  brother's  estate  on  precedent.* 

"  Neither  Lord  nor  Lady  Temple  are  well,  and  yet 
they  are  both  gone  to  Lord  Clare's,  in  Essex,  for  a 
week.  Lord  Temple  had  a  very  bad  fall  in  the  Park, 
and  lost  his  senses  for  an  hour.  Yet,  though  the  horse 
is  a  vicious  one,  he  has  been  upon  it  again.  In  short, 
there  are  no  right-headed  people  but  the  Irish  ! 

**  As  it  is  ancient  good  breeding  not  to  conclude  a 

*  '  I  went  to  the  House  of  Commons  the  other  day  to  hear 
Charles  Fox,  contrary  to  a  resolution  I  had  made  of  never  setting 
my  foot  there  again.  It  is  strange  how  disuse  makes  one  awkward. 
I  felt  a  palpitation,  as  if  I  were  going  to  speak  there  myself.  The 
object  answered  :  Fox's  abilities  are  amazing  at  so  very  early  a 
period,  especially  under  the  circumstances  of  such  a  dissolute  life. 
He  was  just  arrived  from  Newmarket,  had  sat  up  drinking  all  night, 
and  had  not  been  in  bed.  How  such  talents  make  one  laugh  at 
Tully's  rules  for  an  orator,  and  his  indefatigable  application  !  His 
laboured  orations  are  puerile  in  comparison  with  this  boy's  manly 
reason.' — Walpole  to  Mann,  April  %  1772. 


Mrs.   Clive  and  Cliveden.  127 

letter  without  troubling  the  reader  with  compliments, 
and  as  I  have  none  to  send,  I  must  beg  your  Lordship 
not  to  forget  to  present  my  respects  to  the  Countesses 
of  Barrymore  and  Massareene,  my  dear  Sisters  in  Loo. 
You  may  be  sure  I  am  charged  with  a  large  parcel  from 
Cliveden,*  where  I  was  last  night.  Except  being 
extremely  ill,  Mrs.  Clive  is  extremely  well ;  but  the 
tax-gatherer  is  gone  off,  and  she  must  pay  her  window- 
lights  over  again ;  and  the  road  before  her  door  is  very 
bad,  and  the  parish  won't  mend  it,  and  there  is  some 
suspicion  that  Garrick  is  at  the  bottom  of  it;  so  if  you 
please  to  send  a  shipload  of  the  Giant's  Causey  by  next 
Monday,  we  shall  be  able  to  go  to  Mr.  Rofey's  rout  at 
Kingston.  The  Papers  said  she  was  to  act  at  Covent 
Garden,  and  she  has  printed  a  verj^  proper  answer  in 
the  Evening  Post.  Mr.  Raftort  told  me,  that  formerly, 
when  he  played  Luna  in  '  The  Rehearsal,'  he  never 
could  learn  to  dance  the  Hays,  and  at  last  he  went  to 
the  Man  that  teaches  grown  gentlemen. 

"  Miss  DavisJ  is  the  admiration  of  all  London,  but  of 
me,  who  do  not  love  the  perfection  of  what  anybody 
can  do,  and  wish  she  had  less  top  to  her  voice  and 
more  bottom.  However,  she  will  break  Millico's  heart, 
which  will  not  break  mine.  Fierville  has  sprained  his 
leg,  and  there  is  another  man  who  sprains  his  mouth 
with  smiling  on  himself — as  I  have  heard,  for  I  have 

*  Walpole's  playful  name  for  Little  Strawberry  Hill,  a  cottage 
near  his  villa,  and  belonging  to  him,  which  he  gave  to  Mrs.  Clive, 
the  actress,  for  her  life. 

f  Mrs.  Clive's  brother,  who  lived  with  her. 

+  A  new  singer  who  attained  great  celebrity. 


128  Goldsmith  and  Garrick. 

not  seen  him  yet,  nor  a  fat  old  woman  and  her  lean 
daughter,  who  dance  with  him.  London  is  very  dull, 
so  pray  come  back  as  soon  as  you  can.  Mason  is  up  to 
the  ears  in  '  Gray's  Life  ;'  you  will  like  it  exceedingly, 
which  is  more  than  you  will  do  this  long  letter.  Well ! 
you  have  but  to  go  into  Lady  Nuneham's  'dressing- 
room,  and  5'ou  may  read  something  ten  thousand 
times  more  pleasing.  No,  no !  you  are  not  the  most 
to  be  pitied  of  any  human  being,  though  in  the  midst 
of  Dubhn  Castle." 

Next  to  the  above,  Walpole's  liveliest  letters  about 
this  date  were  written  to  Lady  Ossory.  Sometimes  he 
has  to  lament  the  want  of  news  :  "  Pra}^  Madam, 
where  is  the  difference  between  London  and  the 
country,  when  everybody  is  in  the  country  and  nobody 
in  town  ?  The  houses  do  not  marry,  intrigue,  talk 
politics,  game,  or  fling  themselves  out  of  window.  The 
streets  do  not  all  run  to  the  Alley,  nor  the  squares 
mortgage  themselves  over  head  and  ears.  The  play- 
houses do  not  pull  themselves  down  ;  and  all  summer 
long,  when  nobody  gets  about  them,  they  behave 
soberly  and  decently  as  any  Christian  in  the  parish  of 
Marylebone.  The  English  of  this  preface  is  that  I 
have  not  the  Israelitish  art  of  making  bricks  without 
straw.  I  cannot  invent  news  when  nobody  commits 
it."  He  has  nothing  better  to  tell  than  an  anecdote  of 
Goldsmith,  who  died  a  few  months  later,  and  Garrick  : 
"  I  dined  and  passed  Saturday  at  Beauclerk's,  with  the 
Edgecombes,  the  Garricks,  and  Dr.    Goldsmith,  and 


Dearth  of  News.  129 

was  most  thoroughly  tired,  as  I  knew  I  should  be,  I 
who  hate  the  playing  off  a  butt.  Goldsmith  is  a  fool, 
the  more  wearying  for  having  some  sense.  It  was  the 
night  of  a  new  comedy,  called  *  The  School  for  Wives,'* 
which  was  exceedingly  applauded,  and  which  Charles 
Fox  says  is  execrable.  Garrick  has  at  least  the  chief 
hand  in  it.  I  never  saw  anybody  in  a  greater  fidget, 
nor  more  vain  when  he  returned,  for  he  went  to  the 
play-house  at  half-an-hour  after  five,  and  we  sat  waiting 
for  him  till  ten,  when  he  was  to  act  a  speech  in  '  Cato  ' 
with  Goldsmith  !  that  is,  the  latter  sat  in  t'other's  lap, 
covered  with  a  cloak,  and  while  Goldsmith  spoke, 
Garrick's  arms  that  embraced  him,  made  foolish 
actions.  How  could  one  laugh  when  one  had  ex- 
pected this  for  four  hours  ?"  On  Christmas  night 
1773,  he  writes  :  "  This  has  been  a  very  barren  half- 
year.  The  next,  I  hope,  will  reinstate  my  letters  in 
their  proper  character  of  newspapers." 

The  event,  however,  belied  his  hopes.    In  June,  1774, 
he  writes  to  his  Countess  : 

**  Offended  at  you,  Madam !  I  have  crossed  myself 
forty  times  since  I  read  the  impious  words,  never  to  be 
pronounced  by  human  lips, — nay,  and  to  utter  them, 
when  I  am  seemingly  to  blame  ! — yet,  believe  me,  my 
silence  is  not  owing  to  negligence,  or  to  that  most 
wicked  of  all  sins,  inconstancy.  I  have  thought  on  you 
waking  or  sleeping,  whenever  I  have  thought  at  all, 
from  the  moment  I  saw  you  last ;  and  if  there  was  an 
echo  in  the  neighbourhood  besides  Mr.  Cambridge,  I 
*  A  comedy  by  Hugh  Kelly. 

9 


130  Madame  de   Trop. 

should  have  made  it  repeat  your  Ladyship's  name,  till 
the  parish  should  have  presented  it  for  a  nuisance.  I 
have  begun  twenty  letters,  but  the  naked  truth  is,  I 
found  I  had  absolutely  nothing  to  say.  You  yourself 
owned.  Madam,  that  I  am  grown  quite  lifeless,  and  it  is 
very  true.  I  am  none  of  your  Glastonbury  thorns  that 
blow  at  Christmas.  I  am  a  remnant  of  the  last  age, 
and  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  present.  I  am  an 
exile  trom  tiie  sunbeams  of  drawing-rooms ;  I  have 
quitted  the  gay  scenes  of  Parliament  and  the  Anti- 
quarian Society ;  I  am  not  of  Almack's  ;  I  don't  under- 
stand horse-races ;  I  never  go  to  reviews ;  what  can  I 
have  to  talk  of?  I  go  to  no  fetes  champetrcs..  what  can  I 
have  to  think  of?  I  know  nothing  but  about  myself, 
and  about  myself  I  know  nothing.  I  have  scarce  been 
in  town  since  I  saw  you,  have  scarce  seen  anybody  here, 
and  don't  remember  a  tittle  but  having  scolded  my 
gardener  twice,  which,  indeed,  would  be  as  important 
an  article  as  any  in  Montaigne's  Travels,  which  I  have 
been  reading,  and  if  I  was  tired  of  his  Essays,  what  must 
one  be  of  these  !  What  signifies  what  a  man  thought, 
who  never  thought  of  anything  but  himself:  and  what 
signifies  what  a  man  did,  \vho  never  did  anything  ?" 

In  August,  hearing  that  Lady  Ossory  had  again  been 
disappointed  of  a  son,  he  tells  her :  "  I  don't  design  to 
acknowledge  Anne  IIL;  I  shall  call  hex  Madame  de  Trop, 
as  they  named  one  of  the  late  King  of  France's  daugh- 
ters, A  dauphin  !  a  dauphin !  I  will  repeat  it  as  often 
as  the  Graces."  A  month  later  he  is  informed  that 
Madame  de  Trop  has  received  the  name  of  Gertrude  : 


Madame  de   Trop.  131 

"  Madam, — '  Methinks  an  ^sop's  fable  5-ou  relate,'  as 
Dryden  says  in  the  *  Hind  and  Panther.'  A  mouse  that 
wraps  itself  in  a  French  cloak  and  sleeps  on  a  couch ; 
and  a  goldfinch  that  taps  at  the  window  and  swears  it 
will  come  in  to  quadrille  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night !  no, 
no,  these  are  none  of  iEsop's  cattle ;  they  are  too 
fashionable  to  have  lived  so  near  the  creation.  The 
mouse  is  neither  Country  Mouse  nor  City  Mouse  ;  and 
whatever  else  he  may  be,  the  goldfinch  must  be  a 
jNIacaroni,  or  at  least  of  the  Scavoir  vivrc.  I  do  not 
deny  but  I  have  some  skill  in  expounding  t3'pes  and 
portents  ;  and  could  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  identi- 
cal persons  who  have  travestied  themselves  into  a 
quadruped  and  biped  ;  but  the  truth  is,  I  have  no 
mind.  Madam,  to  be  Prime  Minister.  King  Pharaoh 
is  mighty  apt  on  emergencies  to  send  for  us  soothsayers, 
and  put  the  whole  kingdom  into  our  hands,  if  his  butler 
or  baker,  wuth  whom  he  is  wont  to  gossip,  does  but  tell 
him  of  a  cunning  man. 

"  I  have  no  ambition  to  supplant  Lord  North — 
especially  as  the  season  approaches  when  I  dread  the 
gout ;  and  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  be  fetched  out  of 
my  bed  to  pacify  America.  To  be  sure,  Madam,  you 
give  me  a  fair  field  for  uttering  oracles  :  however,  all  I 
will  unfold  is,  that  the  emblematic  animals  have  no 
views  on  Lady  Louisa.*  The  omens  of  her  fortune  are 
in  herself;  and  I  will  burn  my  books,  if  beauty,  sense, 

*  Lady  Louisa  Fitzpatrick,  Lord  Ossory's  sister,  afterwards  mar- 
ried to  the  Earl  of  Shelbirne. 

Q— 2 


132  A  Bunch  of  Grapes. 

and  merit,  do  not  bestow  all  the  happiness  on  her  they 
prognosticate.  .  .  . 

"  I  like  the  blue  eyes,  j\Iadam,  better  than  the 
denomination  of  Lady  Gertrude  Fitzpatrick,  which,  all 
respectable  as  it  is,  is  very  harsh  and  rough  sounding ; 
pray  let  her  change  it  with  the  first  goldfinch  that  offers. 
Nay,  I  do  not  even  trust  to  the  blueth  of  the  eyes.  I 
do  not  believe  they  last  once  in  twenty  times.  One 
cannot  go  into  any  village  fifty  miles  from  London 
without  seeing  a  dozen  little  children  with  flaxen  hair 
and  eyes  of  sky-blue.  What  becomes  of  them  all? 
One  does  not  see  a  grown  Christian  with  them  twice  in 
a  century,  except  in  poetry. 

"  The  Strawberry  Gazette  is  very  barren  of  news. 
Mr.  Garrick  has  the  gout,  which  is  of  more  consequence 
to  the  metropolis  than  to  Twitnamshire.  Lady  Hert- 
ford dined  here  last  Saturday,  brought  her  loo  party, 
and  stayed  supper ;  there  were  Lady  Mary  Coke,  Mrs. 
Howe,  and  the  Colonels  Maude  and  Keene.  This  was 
very  heroic,  for  one  is  robbed  every  hundred  yards. 
Lady  Hertford  herself  was  attacked  last  Wednesday  on 
Hounslow  Heath  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  but  she  had 
two  servants  on  horseback,  who  would  not  let  her  be 
robbed,  and  the  highwayman  decamped. 

*'  The  greatest  event  I  know  was  a  present  I  received 
last  Sunday,  just  as  I  was  going  to  dine  at  Lady  Bland- 
ford's,  to  whom  I  sacrificed  it.  It  was  a  bunch  of 
grapes  as  big — as  big — as  that  the  two  spies  carried  on 
a  pole  to  Joshua  ;  for  spies  in  those  days,  when  they 
robbed  a  vineyard,  were  not  at  all  afraid  of  being  over- 


^l>la/i4tu^f^>vMS^ 


'Jru/y  ^r^€H?^e    -  y^/'/nf/rir/c 


A  Bunch  of  Giapes.  135 

taken.  In  good  truth,  this  bunch  weighed  three  pounds 
and  a  half,  coic  rvtie  measure ;  and  was  sent  to  me  by 
my  neighbour  Prado,  of  the  tribe  of  Issachar,  who  is 
descended  from  one  of  foresaid  spies,  but  a  good  deal 
richer  than  his  ancestor.  Well,  Madam,  I  carried  it  to 
the  Marchioness  of  Blandford,  but  gave  it  to  the  maitrc 
d'hotel,  with  injunctions  to  conceal  it  till  the  dessert. 
At  the  end  of  dinner,  Lady  Blandford  said,  she  had 
heard  of  three  immense  bunches  of  grapes  at  Mr. 
Prado's,  at  a  dinner  he  had  made  for  Mr.  Welborc 
Ellis.  I  said  those  things  were  always  exaggerated. 
She  cried,  Oh  !  but  Mrs.  EUis  told  it,  and  it  weighed  I 
don't  know  how  many  pounds,  and  the  Duke  of  Argyll 
had  been  to  see  the  hothouse,  and  she  wondered,  as  it 
was  so  near,  I  would  not  go  and  see  it.  Not  I,  indeed, 
said  I ;  I  dare  to  say  there  is  no  curiosity  in  it.  Just 
then  entered  the  gigantic  bunch.  Everybody  screamed 
There,  said  I,  I  will  be  shot  if  Mr.  Prado  has  such  a 
bunch  as  yours.  In  short,  she  suspected  Lady  Egre- 
mont,  and  the  adventure  succeeded  to  admiration.  If 
you  will  send  the  Bedfordshire  waggon.  Madam,  I  will 
beg  a  dozen  grapes  for  you.  .  .  . 

"  Pray,  Madam,  is  not  it  Farming-Woods'  tide  ?* 
Who  is  to  have  the  care  of  the  dear  mouse  in  your 
absence  ?  I  wish  I  could  spare  Margaret  [his  house- 
keeper] ,  who  loves  all  creatures  so  well  that  she  would 
have  been  happy  in  the  Ark,  and  sorry  when  the  Deluge 
ceased ;   unless  people   had   come  to   see  Noah's  old 

'■'  The  period  of  the  year  whca  Lady  Ossory  left  Ampthill  for 
FarminiT  Woods. 


134  General  Election. 

house,  which  she  would  have   Hked   still   better  than 
cramming  his  menagerie." 

The  dearth  of  news  was  presently  relieved  by  a 
General  Election,  about  which  and  other  topics  Wal- 
pole  writes  to  Mann  : 

"  Strawberry  Hill,  Oct.  6,  1774. 

"  It  would  be  unlike  my  attention  and  punctuality,  to 
see  so  large  an  event  as  an  irregular  dissolution  of 
Parliament,  without  taking  any  notice  of  it  to  you.  It 
happened  last  Saturday,  six  months  before  its  natural 
death,  and  without  the  design  being  known  but  the 
Tuesday  before,  and  that  by  very  few  persons.  The 
chief  motive  is  supposed  to  be  the  ugly  state  of  North 
America,  and  the  effects  that  a  cross  winter  might  have 
on  the  next  elections  Whatever  were  the  causes,  the 
first  consequences,  as  you  may  guess,  were  such  a 
ferment  ii.  T.ondon  as  is  seldom  seen  at  this  dead 
season  of  t..  .  year.  Couriers,  despatches,  post-chaises, 
post-horses,  hurrying  every  way !  Sixty  messengers 
passed  through  one  single  turnpike  on  Friday.  The 
whole  island  is  by  this  time  in  equ.il  agitation  ;  but  less 
wine  and  money  will  be  shed  than  have  been  at  any 
such  period  for  these  fifty  years.  .  .  . 

"  The  first  symptoms  are  not  favourable  to  the  Court; 
the  great  towns  are  casting  off  submission,  and  declaring 
for  popular  members.  London,  Westminster,  Middle- 
sex, seem  to  have  no  monarch  but  Wilkes,  who  is  at 
the  same  time  pushing  for  the  Mayoralty  of  London, 
with  hitherto  a  majority  on  the  poll.     It  is  strange  how 


Perils  by  Land  and  Water.  135 

this  man,  like  a  phoenix,  always  revives  from  his  embers ! 
America,  I  doubt,  is  still  more  unpromising.  There  are 
whispers  of  their  having  assembled  an  armed  force,  and 
of  earnest  supplications  arrived  for  succours  of  men  and 
ships.  A  civil  war  is  no  trifle  ;  and  how  we  are  to 
suppress  or  pursue  in  such  a  vast  region,  with  a  handful 
of  men,  I  am  not  an  Alexander  to  guess  ;  and  for  the 
fleet,  can  we  put  it  upon  casters  and  wheel  it  from 
Hudson's  Bay  to  Florida  ?  But  I  am  an  ignorant  soul, 
and  neither  pretend  to  knowledge  nor  foreknowledge. 
All  I  perceive  already  is,  that  our  Parliaments  are  sub- 
jected to  America  and  India,  and  must  be  influenced  by 
their  politics  ;  yet  I  do  not  believe  our  senators  are 
more  universal  than  formerly. 

"It  would  be  quite  unfashionable  to  talk  longer  of 
anything  but  elections  ;  and  yet  it  is  the  topic  on  which 
I  never  talk  or  think,  especially  since  I  iook  v.p  my  free- 
dom.* .  .  . 

"  In  the  midst  of  this  combustion,  we  are  in  perils  by 
land  and  water.  It  has  rained  for  this  month  without 
intermission.  There  is  a  sea  between  me  and  Rich- 
mond, and  Sunday  was  se'nnight  I  was  hurried  down  to 
Isleworth  in  the  ferryboat  by  the  violence  of  the  current, 
and  had  great  difficulty  to  get  to  shore.  Our  roads  are 
so  infested  by  highwaymen,  that  it  is  dangerous  stirring 
out  almost  by  day.  Lady  Hertford  was  attacked  on 
Hounslow  Heath  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  Dr.  Eliot 
was  shot  at  three  days  ago,  without  having  resisted  ; 
and  the  day  before  yesterday  we  were  near  losing  our 
*  His  quitting-  Parliament. 


J 


6  Perils  by  Land  and  Water. 


Prime  Minister,  Lord  North  ;  the  robbers  shot  at  the 
postilion,  and  wounded  the  latter.  In  short,  all  the  free- 
booters, that  are  not  in  India,  have  taken  to  the  highway. 
The  Ladies  of  the  Bedchamber  dare  not  go  to  the 
Queen  at  Kew  in  an  evening.  The  lane  between  me  and 
the  Thames  is  the  only  safe  road  I  know  at  present,  for 
it  is  up  to  the  middle  of  the  horses  in  water.  Next 
week  I  shall  not  venture  to  London  even  at  noon,  for 
the  Middlesex  election  is  to  be  at  Brentford,  where  the 
two  demagogues,  Wilkes  and  Townshend,  oppose  each 
other ;  and  at  Richmond  there  is  no  crossing  the  river. 
How  strange  all  this  must  appear  to  you  Florentines  ; 
but  you  may  turn  to  your  Machiavelli  and  Guicciardini, 
and  have  some  idea  of  it.  I  am  the  quietest  man  at 
present  in  the  whole  island  ;  not  but  I  might  take  some 
part,  if  I  would.  I  was  in  my  garden  yesterday,  seeing 
my  servants  lop  some  trees ;  my  brewer  walked  in 
and  pressed  me  to  go  to  Guildhall  for  the  nomina- 
tion rf  members  for  the  county.  I  replied,  calmly, 
*'  Sir,  when  I  would  go  no  more  to  my  own  election,  you 
may  be  very  sure  I  will  go  to  that  of  nobody  else.'  My 
old  tune  is, 

"  '  Suave  mari  magno  turbantibus  a:quora  ventis,'  (Sec. 

"Adieu  J 

*'  P.S.     Arlington  Street,  7th. 

"  I  am  just  come  to  town,  and  find  your  letter.  .  .  . 
The  approaching  death  of  the  Pope  will  be  an  event  of 
no  consequence.  That  old  mummery  is  near  its  con- 
clusion, at  least  as  a  political  object.     The  history  of 


Sir  Horace  Mann.  137 

the  latter  Popes  will  be  no  more  read  than  that  of  the 
last  Constantinopolitan  Emperors.  Wilkes  is  a  more 
conspicuous  personage  in  modern  story  than  the  Ponti- 
fex  Maximus  of  Rome,  The  poll  for  Lord  Mayor  ended 
last  night  ;  he  and  his  late  Mayor  had  above  1,900 
votes,  and  their  antagonists  not  1,500.  It  is  strange 
that  the  more  he  is  opposed,  the  more  he  succeeds !" 

The  foregoing  is  an  average  sample  of  the  bulk  of 
Walpole's  Letters  to  Sir  Horace  Mann.  It  was  to 
these  Macaulay  referred  when  he  said,  sneeringly,  that 
Walpole  "  left  copies  of  his  private  letters,  with  copious 
notes,  to  be  published  after  his  decease."  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  their  author  regarded  them  as  a 
valuable  contribution  to  the  history  of  his  times.  And 
such,  in  truth,  they  were.  Many  of  them  contain  full 
details  of  some  political  movement,  written  by  one  w-ho, 
if  not  himself  engaged  in  the  struggle,  was  in  close 
communication  with  the  actors  on  one  side  at  least. 
Hence,  though  these  letters  may  be  loaded  with  bias, 
they  are  often  of  solid  substance.  If  they  are  not 
equally  important  for  our  present  purpose,  this  is 
because  they  deal  almost  entirely  with  public  matters 
and  with  the  general  new's  of  the  day.  "  Nothing  is  so 
pleasant  in  a  letter,"  w-rites  Walpole  to  Lady  Ossory, 
**  as  the  occurrences  of  society.  I  am  always  regretting 
in  my  correspondence  with  Madame  du  Deffand  and 
Sir  Horace  Mann,  that  I  must  not  make  use  of  them, 
as  the  one  has  never  lived  in  England,  and  the  other 
not  these  fifty  years  ;  and  so,  my  private  stories  would 
want  notes  as  much  as  Petronius.     Sir  Horace  and  I 


138  Lord  Clive. 

have  no  acquaintance  in  common  but  the  Kings  and 
Queens  of  Europe." 

In  a  letter  to  Mann,  dated  November  24,  1774, 
Walpole  returns  to  the  subject  of  the  new  Parha- 
ment : 

"  A  great  event  happened  two  days  ago — a  political 
and  moral  event ;  the  sudden  death  of  that  second 
Kouli  Khan,  Lord  Clive.  There  was  certainly  illness 
in  the  case  ;  the  world  thinks  more  than  illness.  His 
constitution  was  exceedingly  broken  and  disordered, 
and  grown  subject  to  violent  pains  and  convulsions. 
He  came  unexpectedly  to  town  last  Monday,  and  they 
say,  ill.  On  Tuesday  his  physician  gave  him  a  dose  of 
laudanum,  which  had  not  the  desired  effect.  On  the 
rest,  there  are  two  stories ;  one,  that  the  ph5'sician 
repeated  the  dose  ;  the  other,  that  he  doubled  it  him- 
self, contrary  to  advice.*  In  short,  he  has  terminated 
at  fifty  a  life  of  so  much  glory,  reproach,  art,  wealth, 
and  ostentation  !  He  had  just  named  ten  members  for 
the  new  Parliament. t 

"  Next  Tuesday  that  Parliament  is  to  meet — and  a 
deep  game  it  has  to  play !  few  Parliaments  a  greater. 
The  world  is  in  amaze  here  that  no  account  is  arrived 
from  America  of  the  result  of  their  General  Congress — if 
any  is  come,  it  is  very  secret ;  and  ilxat  has  no  favour- 
able aspect.     The  combination  and  spirit  there  seem  to 

*  Lord  Clive,  in  fact,  cut  his  throat,  as  Walpole,  correcting  him- 
self, mentions  in  a  postscript  to  this  letter. 

f  In  1760,  Walpole  wrote:  "General  Clive  is  arrived,  all  over 
estates  and  diamonds.  If  a  beggar  asks  charity,  he  says,  '  Friend, 
I  have  no  small  brilliants  about  me.'  " 


The  History  of  Manners.  X39 

be  universal,  and  is  very  alarming.  I  am  the  humb'e 
servant  of  events,  and  you  know  never  meddle  with 
prophecy.  It  would  be  difficult  to  descry  good  omens, 
be  the  issue  what  it  will. 

"  The  old  French  Parliament  is  restored  with  great 
eclat.  Monsieur  de  Maurepas,  author  of  the  revolution, 
was  received  one  night  at  the  Opera  with  boundless 
shouts  of  applause.  It  is  even  said  that  the  mob  in- 
tended, when  the  King  should  go  to  hold  the  lit  dc  jtcs- 
tice,  to  draw  his  coach.  How  singular  it  would  be  if 
Wilkes's  case  should  be  copied  for  a  King  of  France  ! 
Do  you  think  Rousseau  was  in  the  right,  when  he  said 
that  he  could  tell  what  would  be  the  manners  of  any 
capital  city,  from  certain  given  lights  ?  I  don't  know 
what  he  may  do  on  Constantinople  and  Pekin — but 
Paris  and  London  !  I  don't  believe  Voltaire  likes  these 
changes.  I  have  seen  nothing  of  his  writing  for  many 
months  ;  not  even  on  the  poisoning  Jesuits.^  For  our 
part,  I  repeat  it,  we  shall  contribute  nothing  to  the 
Hisioire  des  Mccurs,  not  for  want  of  materials,  but  for 
want  of  writers.  We  have  comedies  without  novelty, 
gross  satires  without  stings,  metaphysical  eloquence, 
and  antiquarians  that  discover  nothing. 

"  '  BcEotum  in  crasso  jurares  aeie  natos  !' 

"  Don't  tell  me  I  am  grown  old  and  peevish  and 
supercilious — name  the  geniuses  of  1774,  and  I  submit. 
The  next  Augustan  age  will  dawn  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  There  will,  perhaps,  be  a  Thucydides  at 
Boston,  a  Xcnophon  at  New  York,  and,  in  time,  a 
They  poisoned  Pope  Ganganelli. — Walpcle. 


^40  A    Traveller  from  Lima. 

Virgil  at  Mexico,  and  a  Newton  at  Peru.  At  last,  some 
curious  traveller  from  Lima  will  visit  England,  and  give 
a  description  of  the  ruins  of  St.  Paul's,  like  the  editions 
of  Balbec  and  Palmyra ;  but  am  I  not  prophesying, 
contrary  to  my  consummate  prudence,  and  casting 
horoscopes  of  empires  like  Rousseau  ?  Yes  ;  well,  I  will 
go  and  dream  of  my  visions." 

More  than  one  writer  has  cited  Walpole's  traveller 
from  Lima  as  the  original  of  Lord  Macaulay's  traveller 
from  New  Zealand,  who,  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  solitude, 
takes  his  stand  on  a  broken  arch  of  London  Bridge  to 
sketch  the  ruins  of  St.  Paul's.  Others  have  traced 
the  passage  in  the  celebrated  Review  of  Ranke's 
"History  of  the  Popes,"  to  Volney,  Mrs.  Barbauld, 
Kirke  White,  and  Shelley ;  while  others  again  have 
pointed  out  that,  from  whatsoever  source  derived,  the 
idea  expressed  in  this  passage  had  been  twice  before 
employed  by  ]\Iacaulay,  once,  in  1824,  in  a  Review  of 
Mitford's  "  Greece,"  and  the  second  time,  in  1829,  in 
his  Review  of  Ivlill's  "  Essay  on  Government."  The 
picture  of  the  New  Zealander,  however,  resembles  the 
less  ambitious,  but  equally  graphic,  figure  of  the  tra- 
veller from  Lima  more  closely  than  it  does  any  of  the 
other  passages  referred  to.*     What  is  remarkable  is, 

*  "  Who  knows  but  that  hereafter  some  traveller  like  myself  will 
sit  down  upon  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  the  Thames,  or  the  Zuyder 
Zee  ?  .  .  .  Who  knows  but  that  he  will  sit  down  solitary  amid  silent 
ruins  ?"etc. — Volney's  Kicins. 

"  When  London  shall  be  an  habitation  of  bitterns,  when  St.  Paul's 
and  Westminster  Abbey  shall  stand,  shapeless  and  nameless  ruins, 
in   the  midst  of    an    unpeoj'l. d   marsh;  .  .  .  some  Transatlantic 


The  Sf avoir  Vivre  Club.  141 

that  the  Review  of  Ranke's  "History"  appeared  in 
October,  1840,  whereas  the  later  portion  of  Walpole's 
correspondence  with  Mann,  to  which  the  above  extract 
belongs,  was  first  published  from  the  original  manu- 
scripts in  1843.  How  then  could  Macaulay  know  any- 
thing of  the  Peruvian  stranger  ?* 

The  following  was  also  addressed  to  Sir  H.  Mann. 
It  is  dated  in  May,  1775  ; 

*'  You  have  not  more  Masquerades  in  Carnival  than 
we  have  ;  there  is  one  at  the  Pantheon  to-night,  another 
on  Monday  ;  and  in  June  is  to  be  a  pompous  one  on  the 
water,  and  at  Ranelagh.  This  and  the  first  are  given 
by  the  Club  called  the  Scavoir  Vivre,  who  till  now  have 
only  shone  by  excess  of  gaming.  The  leader  is  that 
fashionable  orator  Lord  Lyttelton,-f-  of  whom  I  need 
not  teW  you  more.  I  have  done  with  these  diversions, 
and  enjoy  myself  here.  Your  old  acquaintance.  Lord 
and  Lady  Dacre,  and  your  old  friend,  Mr.  Chute,  dined 
with  me  to-day  :  poor  Lord  Dacre:}:  is  carried  about, 

commentator  will  be  weighing  .  .  .  the  respective  merits  of  the 
Bells  and  the  Fudges,  and  their  hiitorians." — SlitWcy,  Dedication  to 
Peter  Bell  the  Third. 

The  rest  are  still  more  remote. 

*  Walpole,  as  well  as  Macaulay,  repeats  himself:  "Nations  at 
the  acme  of  their  splendour,  or  at  the  eve  of  their  destruction,  are 
worth  observing.  When  they  grovel  in  obscurity  afterwards,  they 
fiunish  neither  events  nor  reflections  ;  strangers  visit  the  vestiges  of 
the  Acropolis,  or  may  come  to  dig  for  capitals  among  the  ruins  of  St. 
Paul's  ;  but  nobody  studies  the  manners  of  the  pedlars  and  banditti 
that  dwell  in  mud  huts  within  the  precincts  of  a  demolished  temple." 
— Letter  to  Mason,  dated  May  12,  x'j'jZ,  first  published  in  185 1. 

f  Thomas,  second  Loid  Lyttelton  ;  he  had  been  at  Florence. 

J  Thomas  Lennard  B.>net;  his  wife  was  sister  of  Lord  Camden. 


142  Reflect  ions  on  Life. 

though  not  worse  than  he  has  been  these  twenty  years. 
Strawberry  was  in  great  beauty  ;  what  joy  I  should 
have  in  showing  it  to  you  !  Is  this  a  wish  I  must  never 
indulge  ?     Alas  ! 

"  I  have  had  a  long  chain  of  thoughts  since  I  wrote 
the  last  paragraph.  They  ended  in  smiling  at  the  word 
never.  How  one  pronounces  it  to  the  last  moment ! 
Would  not  one  think  I  counted  on  a  long  series  of  years 
to  come  ?  Yet  no  man  has  the  termination  of  all  his 
views  more  before  his  eyes,  or  knows  better  the  idleness 
of  framing  visions  to  one's  self.  One  passes  away  so 
soon,  and  worlds  succeed  to  worlds,  in  which  the  occu- 
piers build  the  same  castles  in  the  air.  What  is  ours 
but  the  present  moment  ?  And  how  many  of  mine  are 
gone  !  And  what  do  I  want  to  show  you  ?  A  play- 
thing-vision, that  has  amused  a  poor  transitory  mortal 
for  a  few  hours,  and  that  will  pass  away  like  its  master! 
Well,  and  yet  is  it  not  as  sensible  to  conform  to  common 
ideas,  and  to  live  Vv-hile  one  lives?  Perhaps  the  wisest 
way  is  to  cheat  one's  self.  Did  one  concentre  all  one's 
thoughts  on  the  nearness  and  certainty  of  dissolution, 
all  the  world  would  lie  eating  and  sleeping  like  the 
savage  Americans.  Our  wishes  and  views  were  given 
us  to  gild  the  dream  of  life,  and  if  a  Strawberry  Hill  can 
soften  the  decays  of  age,  it  is  wise  to  embrace  it,  and 
due  gratitude  to  the  Great  Giver  to  be  happy  with  it. 
The  true  pain  is  the  reflection  on  the  numbers  that  are 
not  so  blessed ;  yet  I  have  no  doubt  but  the  real 
miseries  of  life — I  mean  those  that  are  unmerited  and 
unavoidable,  —  will  be   compensated   to   the  sufferers. 


The  P 7'c tender  s  Happiness.  143 

Tyrants  are  a  proof  of  an  hereafter.     Millions  of  men 
cannot  be  formed  for  the  sport  of  a  cruel  child. 

"  How  happy  is  the  Pretender  in  missing  a  Crown  ! 
When  dead,  he  will  have  all  the  advantage  that  other 
Kings  have,  the  being  remembered ;  and  that  greater 
advantage,  which  Kings  who  die  in  their  childhood 
have,  historians  will  say,  he  would  have  been  a  great 
King  if  he  had  lived  to  reign  ;  and  that  greatest  advan- 
tage which  so  very  few  of  them  have,  his  reign  will  be 
stained  with  no  crimes  and  blunders.  If  he  is  at 
Florence,  pray  recommend  me  to  him  for  his  historian  ; 
you  see  I  have  all  the  qualities  a  Monarch  demands,  I 
am  disposed  to  flatter  him.  You  may  tell  him  too  what  I 
have  done  for  his  uncle  Richard  III.  The  mischief  is  in 
it,  if  I  am  not  qualified  for  a  Royal  Historiographer, 
when  I  have  whitewashed  one  of  the  very  few  whom  my 
brethren,  so  contrary  to  their  custom,  have  agreed  to 
traduce." 

In  the  autumn  of  1775,  Walpole  was  in  Paris,  whence 
he  sends,  for  the  benefit  of  Conway's  daughter,  this 
important  piece  of  information :  "  Tell  Mrs.  Damer, 
that  the  fashion  now  is  to  erect  the  ioupec  into  a  high 
detached  tuft  of  hair,  like  a  cockatoo's  crest ;  and  this 
ionpce.  they  call  la  physionomic — I  don't  guess  why." 
And  in  giving  George  Selwyn  an  account  of  the  modish 
French  ladies  whom  he  met,  he  adds  a  description 
suited  to  the  humour  of  that  facetious  gentleman : 
"With  one  of  them,"  he  says,  "you  would  be  de- 
lighted, a  Madame  de  I\Iarchais.     She  is  not  perfectly 


144  Paris  Fashions. 

young,  has  a  face  like  a  Jew  pedlar,  her  person  is  about 
four  feet,  her  head  about  six,  and  her  coiffure  about  ten. 
Her  forehead,  chin,  and  neck  are  whiter  than  a  miller's; 
and  she  wears  more  festoons  of  natural  flowers  than  all 
the  figurantes  at  the  Opera.  Her  eloquence  is  still 
more  abundant,  her  attentions  exuberant.  She  talks 
volumes,  writes  folios — I  mean  in  billets ;  presides  ovei 
the  Academic,  inspires  passions.  .  .  .  She  has  a  house 
in  a  nut-shell,  that  is  fuller  of  invention  than  a  fairy 
tale;  her  bed  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  because 
there  is  no  other  space  that  would  hold  it ;  it  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  perspective  of  looking-glasses.  .  .  ."  In 
reference  to  the  rage  for  billets,  he  mentions  "  a  collec- 
tion that  was  found  last  winter  at  Monsieur  de  Ponde- 
veylle's :  there  were  sixteen  thousand  from  one  lady,  in 
a  correspondence  of  only  eleven  years.  For  fear  of 
setting  the  house  on  fire  if  thrown  into  the  chimne}', 
the  executors  crammed  them  into  the  oven."  "There 
have  been  known,"  he  adds,  "persons  here  who  wrote 
to  one  another  four  times  a  day  ;  and  I  was  told  of  one 
couple,  who  being  always  together,  and  the  lover  being 
fond  of  writing,  he  placed  a  screen  between  them,  and 
then  wrote  to  Madam  on  t'other  side,  and  flung  them 
over."     Of  his  "  dear  old  friend,"  he  reports  : 

"Madame  du  Deffand  has  been  so  ill,  that  the  day 
she  was  seized  I  thought  she  would  not  live  till  night. 
Her  Herculean  weakness,  which  could  not  resist  straw- 
berries and  cream  after  supper,  has  surmounted  all  the 
jips  and  downs  which  followed  her  excess ;  but  her  im- 


Jl/adcijue  dii  Deffand  ill.  145 

patience  to  go  everywhere  and  to  do  everything  has 
been  attended  with  a  kind  of  relapse,  and  another  kind 
of  giddiness  ;  so  that  I  am  not  quite  easy  about  her,  as 
they  allow  her  to  take  no  nourishment  to  recruit,  and 
she  will  die  of  inanition,  if  she  does  not  live  upon  it. 
She  cannot  lift  her  head  from  the  pillow  without  Hour- 
dissemcns ;  and  yet  her  spirits  gallop  faster  than  any- 
body's, and  so  do  her  repartees.  She  has  a  great 
supper  to-night  for  the  Due  de  Choiseul,  and  was  in 
such  a  passion  yesterday  with  her  cook  about  it,  and 
that  put  Tonton*  into  such  a  rage,  that  nos  dames  de 
Sai}if  Joseph  thought  the  devil  or  the  philosophers  were 
flying  away  with  their  convent  !  As  I  have  scarce 
quitted  her,  I  can  have  had  nothing  to  tell  you.  If  she 
gets  well,  as  I  trust,  I  shall  set  out  on  the  12th ;  but  I 
cannot  leave  her  in  any  danger — though  I  shall  run 
many  myself,  if  I  stay  longer.  I  have  kept  such  bad 
hours  with  this  inalade,  that  I  have  had  alarms  of  gout ; 
and  bad  weather,  worse  inns,  and  a  voyage  in  winter, 
will  ill  suit  me.  .  .  . 

*'  I  must  repose  a  great  while  after  all  this  living  in 
company ;  nay,  intend  to  go  very  little  into  the  world 
again,  as  I  do  not  admire  the  French  way  of  burning 
one's  candle  to  the  very  snuff  in  public." 

At  the  end  of  1775,  Sir  Horace  Mann's  elder  brother 
died,  the  family  estate  came  to  the  Ambassador,  and 
Walpole  flattered  himself  "that  a  regular  correspon- 

*  The  lady's  doj,  which,  on  her  death,  passed  into  the  care  of 
Walpole. 

10 


146  Growth  of  London. 

dence  of  thirty-four  years  will  cease,  and  that  I  shall  see 
him  again  before  we  meet  in  the  Elysian  fields."  He 
was  disappointed.  In  February,  1776,  he  writes  to  his 
old  friend  :  "  You  have  chilled  me  so  thoroughly  by  the 
coldness  of  3'our  answer,  and  by  the  dislike  you  express 
to  England,  that  I  shall  certainly  press  you  no  more  to 
come.  I  thought  at  least  it  would  have  cost  you  a 
struggle."  Again,  a  httle  later:  "Pray  be  assured,  I 
acquiesce  in  all  you  say  on  your  own  return,  though 
grieved  at  your  resolution,  and  more  so  at  the  necessity 
you  find  in  adhering  to  it.  It  is  not  my  disposition  to 
prefer  my  own  pleasure  to  the  welfare  of  my  friends. 
Your  return  might  have  opened  a  warm  channel  of 
affection  which  above  thirty  years  could  not  freeze  ;  but 
I  am  sure  you  know  my  steadiness  too  well  to  suspect 
me  of  cooling  to  you,  because  we  are  both  grown  too 
old  to  meet  again.  I  wished  that  meeting  as  a  luxury 
beyond  what  old  age  often  tastes  ;  but  I  am  too  well 
prepared  for  parting  with  everything  to  be  ill- 
humouredly  chagrined  because  one  vision  fails."  In 
July,  1776,  we  find  the  following,  also  addressed  to 
Mann  : 

**  I  did  flatter  myself  with  being  diverted  at  your  sur- 
prise from  so  general  an  alteration  of  persons,  objects, 
manners,  as  you  would  have  found ;  but  there  is  an  end 
of  all  that  pleasing  vision  !  I  remember  when  my  father 
went  out  of  place,  and  was  to  return  visits,  which 
^linisters  are  excused  from  doing,  he  could  not  guess 
where  he  was,  finding  himself  in  so  many  new  streets 


Growth  of  London.  147 

and  squares.  This  was  thirty  years  ago.  They  have 
been  building  ever  since,  and  one  would  think  they  had 
imported  two  or  three  capitals.  London  could  put 
Florence  into  its  fob-pocket ;  but  as  they  build  so 
slightly,  if  they  did  not  rebuild,  it  would  be  just  the 
reverse  of  Rome,  a  vast  circumference  of  city  surround- 
ing an  area  of  ruins.  As  its  present  progress  is  chiefly 
north,  and  Southwark  marches  south,  the  metropolis 
promises  to  be  as  broad  as  long.  Rows  of  houses  shoot 
out  every  way  like  a  polypus  ;  and,  so  great  is  the  rage 
of  building  everywhere,  that,  if  I  stay  here  a  fortnight, 
without  going  to  town,  I  look  about  to  see  if  no  new 
house  is  built  since  I  went  last.  America  and  France 
must  tell  us  how  long  this  exuberance  of  opulence  is  to 
last!  The  East  Indies,  I  believe,  v/ill  not  contribute  to 
it  much  longer.  Babylon  and  Memphis  and  Rome, 
probabl}^  stared  at  their  ovv'u  downfall.  Empires  did 
not  use  to  philosophise,  nor  thought  much  but  of  them- 
selves. Such  revolutions  are  better  known  novv',  and 
we  ought  to  expect  them — I  do  not  say  we  do.  This 
little  island  will  be  ridiculously  proud  some  ages  hence 
of  its  former  brave  days,  and  swear  its  capital  was  oncj 
as  big  again  as  Paris,  or — what  is  to  be  the  name  of 
the  city  that  will  then  give  laws  to  Europe  ? — perhaps 
New  York  or  Philadelphia." 

At  the  close  of  1776,  Walpole  had  another  severe 
illness.  It  is  first  mentioned  in  a  letter  to  Lady 
Ossory : 

"  It  is  not  from  being  made  Archbishop  of  York,  that 


14S  Sif  Joshua  Reynolds. 

I  write  by  a  secretary  [Kirgate],  Madam  ;  but  because 
my  right  hand  has  lost  its  cunning.  It  has  had  the 
gout  ever  since  Friday  night,  and  I  am  overjoyed  with 
it,  for  there  is  no  appearance  of  its  going  any  farther. 
I  came  to  town  on  Sunday  in  a  panic,  concluding  I 
should  be  bedrid  for  three  months,  but  I  went  out  last 
night,  and  think  I  shall  be  able  in  a  few  days  to  play 
upon  the  guitar  if  I  could  play  upon  it  at  all.  .  .  . 

"  I  have  seen  the  picture  of  '  St.  George,'  and  ap- 
prove the  Duke  of  Bedford's  head,  and  the  exact  like- 
ness of  Miss  Vernon, =:=  but  the  attitude  is  mean  and 
foohsh,  and  expresses  silly  wonderment.  But  of  all, 
delicious  is  a  picture  of  a  little  girl  of  the  Duke  of 
Buccleuch,  who  is  overlaid  with  a  long  cloak,  bonnet, 
and  muff,  in  the  midst  of  the  snow,  and  is  perishing 
blue  and  red  with  cold,  but  looks  so  smiling,  and  so 
good-humoured,  that  one  longs  to  catch  her  up  in  one's 
arms  and  kiss  her  till  she  squalls. 

*'  My  hand  has  not  a  word  more  to  say." 
The   attack   proved  obstinate,  and   we   have   again 
complaints  of  the  English  climate,  mixed  with  lamenta- 
tions over  the  change  in  English  manners.     Thus  in 
February,  1777,  he  writes  : 

*  This  picture,  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  was  painted  for  Mr. 
Rigby.  The  attitude  of  Miss  Vernon  is,  as  Walpole  here  says, 
affected.  That  of  Lord  William  Russell  illustrates  the  genius  ot 
Sir  Joshua.  The  story  is  told,  that  the  boy  was  unwilling  to  stand 
5lill  for  his  portrait,  and  running  about  the  room,  crouched  in  a 
corner  to  avoid  it.  Sir  Joshua,  at  once  seizing  the  possibility  of 
painting  him  so,  said,  "Well,  stay  there,  my  little  fellow.'  and 
tlrew  him  in  a  natural  position  of  fear  at  the  dragon. — R.  V^eknon 
^(MlTH  (afterwards  Lord  Lyveden). 


Change  in  Manners.  149 

*'  Everythln,:,^  is  changed  ;  as  always  must  happsii 
Avhen  one  grows  old,  and  is  prejudiced  to  one's  old  ways. 
I  do  not  like  dining  at  nearly  six,  nor  beginning  the 
evening  at  ten  at  night.  If  one  does  not  conform,  one 
must  live  alone;  and  that  is  more  disagreeable  and 
more  difficult  in  town  than  in  the  country,  where  old 
useless  people  ought  to  live  Unfortunately,  the  country 
does  not  agree  with  me ;  and  I  am  sure  it  is  not  fancy  ; 
for  my  violent  partiality  to  Strawberr}^  Hill  cannot  be 
imposed  upon.  I  am  persuaded^  that  it  is  the  damp- 
ness of  this  climate  that  gives  me  so  much  gout ;  and 
London,  from  the  number  of  fires  and  inhabitants,  must 
be  the  driest  spot  in  the  nation." 

The  following,  written  to  Lord  Nuneham  in  July,  is 
in  a  gayer  tone  : 

"  Now  I  have  taken  this  hbertv,  my  dear  Lord,  I 
must  take  a  little  more  ;  you  know  my  old  admiration 
and  envy  are  your  garden.  I  do  not  grudge  Pomona  or 
Sir  James  Cockburii  their  hot-houses,  nor  intend  to 
ruin  m3'self  by  raising  sugar  and  water  in  tanner's  bark 
and  peach  skins.  The  Flora  Nunehamica  is  the  height 
of  my  ambition,  and  if  your  Linnseus  should  have  any 
disciple  that  would  condescend  to  look  after  my  little 
flower-garden,  it  would  be  the  delight  of  my  eyes  and 
nose,  provided  the  cataracts  of  heaven  are  ever  shut 
again  !  Not  one  proviso  do  I  make,  but  that  the  pupil 
be  not  a  Scot.  We  had  peace  and  warm  weather 
before  the  inundation  of  that  northern  people,  and 
t'lerefore  I  beg  to  have  no  Attila  for  my  gardener. 


150  Onr  Climate. 

"  Apropos,  don't  }our  Lordship  think  that  another 
set  of  legislators,  the  Maccaronis  and  Maccaronesses, 
are  very  wise  ?  People  abuse  them  for  turning  days, 
nights,  hours  and  seasons  topsy-turvy ;  but  surely  it 
was  upon  mature  reflection.  We  had  a  set  of  customs 
and  ideas  borrowed  from  the  continent  that  by  no 
means  suited  our  climate.  Reformers  bring  back  things 
to  their  natural  course.  Notwithstanding  what  I  said 
in  spite  in  the  paragraph  above,  we  are  in  truth  but 
Greenlanders,  and  ought  to  conform  to  our  climate. 
We  should  lay  in  store  of  provisions  and  candles  and 
masquerades  and  coloured  lamps  for  ten  months  in  the 
year,  and  shut  out  our  twilight  and  enjoy  ourselves.  In 
September  and  October,  we  may  venture  out  of  our  ark, 
and  make  our  hay,  and  gather  in  our  corn,  and  go  to 
horse-races,  and  kill  pheasants  and  partridges  for  stock 
for  our  winter's  supper.  I  sailed  in  a  skiff  and  pair  this 
morning  to  Lady  Ceciha  Johnston,  and  found  her,  like 
a  good  housewife,  sitting  over  her  fire,  with  her  cats 
and  dogs  and  birds  and  children.  She  brought  out  a 
dram  to  warm  me  and  my  servants,  and  we  were  very 
merry  and  comfortable.  As  Lady  Nuneham  has  neither 
so  many  two-footed  or  four-footed  cares  upon  her  hands, 
I  hope  her  hands  have  been  better  employed. 

'•  I  wish  I  could  peep  over  her  shoulder  one  of  these 
wet  niornings  1" 


The  American  War.  151 


CHAPTER  VIT. 

The  American  War. — Irish  Discontent.— Want  of  Money. — The 
Houghton  Pictures  Sold. — Removal  to  Berkeley  Square. — Ill- 
health.— A  Painting  by  Zoffani.— The  Ra^e  for  News. — The  Duke 
of  Gloucester. — Wilkes.— Fashions,  Old  and  New. — Mackerel 
News.— Pretty  Stories. — Madame  de  S(fvign6's  Cabinet. — Picture 
of  his  Waldegrave  Nieces. — The  Gordon  Riots.  —  Dealh  of 
Madame  du  Deffand. — The  Blue  Stockings. 

Humourist, as  he  was,  and  too  often  swayed  by  preju- 
dice, no  man  had  a  sounder  judgment  than  Walpole 
when  he  gave  his  reason  fair  play.  In  his  estimate  of 
pubHc  events,  he  sometimes  displayed  unusual  sagacity. 
Though  his  dislike  of  Lord  Chatham  led  him  to  dis- 
parage the  efforts  of  the  old  man  eloquent  to  avert  the 
American  War — efforts  which  filled  Franklin  with  ad- 
miration— he  yet  foresaw  quite  as  clearly  as  Chatham 
the  disastrous  results  of  that  contest.  The  celebrated 
speeches  which  fell  dead  on  the  ear  of  Parliament  had 
no  more  effect  upon  Walpole  ;  but  Walpole  did  not 
need  to  be  moved  by  them,  for  he  was  convinced 
already.  "  This  interlude,"  he  writes  to  Conway,  who 
was  then  in  Paris,  "  would  be  entertaining,  if  the  scene 
was  not  so  totally  gloomy.  The  Cabinet  have  deter- 
mined on  civil  war.  .  .  .  There  is  food  for  meditation  ! 


152  The  Ajnericaii  War. 

Will  the  French  you  converse  with  be  civil  and  keep 
their  countenunces  ?  Pray  remember  it  is  not  decent  to 
be  dancing  at  Paris,  when  there  is  a  civil  war  in  your 
own  countr}'.  You  would  be  like  the  country  squire, 
who  passed  by  with  his  hounds  as  the  battle  of  Edgehill 
began."  The  letter  in  which  these  words  occur  is  dated 
January  22,  1775.  Three  weeks  later,  the  writer  adds  : 
''The  war  with  our  Colonies,  which  is  now  declared,  is 
a  proof  how  much  influence  jargon  has  on  human 
actions.  A  war  on  our  own  trade  \s  popular  1"^'  Both 
Houses  are  as  eager  for  it  as  they  were  for  conquering 
the  Indies — which  acquits  them  a  little  of  rapine,  when 
they  are  as  glad  of  what  will  impoverish  them  as  of 
what  they  fancied  was  to  enrich  them."  His  sympathy, 
as  well  as  his  judgment,  was  on  the  side  of  the  Colonies 
On  September  7th  1775,  he  writes  to  Mann  :  "  You 
will  not  be  surprised  that  I  am  what  I  always  was,  a 
zealot  for  liberty  in  every  part  of  the  globe,  and  conse- 
quently that  I  most  heartily  wish  success  to  the 
Americans.  They  have  hitherto  not  made  one  blunder; 
and  the  Administration  have  made  a  thousand,  besides 
the  two  capitalones,  of  first  provoking,  and  then  of  uniting 
the  Colonies.  The  latter  seem  to  have  as  good  heads  as 
hearts,  as  we  want  both."     And  on  the  iith:  "The 

■•'  '  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  the  town  of  Birmingham  has  petitioned 
the  Parliament  to  enforce  the  American  Acts,  that  is,  make  war ; 
for  they  have  a  manufacture  of  swords  and  muskets.'— Walpole 
to  Mann,  Jan.  27th,  1775. 

*  Is  it  credible  that  five  or  six  of  the  great  trading  towns  have 
presented  addresses  against  the  Americans?' — Same  to  Same,  Oct. 
10,  1775.  The  writer  tries  to  persuade  himself  that  these  addresses 
were  procured  by  'those  boobie?.  the  country  gentlemen.' 


The  American  War,  153 

Parliament  is  to  meet  on  the  20th  of  next  month,  and 
vote  twenty-six  thousand  seamen  !  What  a  paragraph 
of  blood  is  there  !  With  what  torrents  must  liberty  be 
preserved  in  America  !  In  England  what  can  save  it  ? 
.  .  .  What  prospect  of  comfort  has  a  true  Englishman? 
Why,  that  Philip  II.  miscarried  against  the  boors  of 
Holland,  and  that  Louis  XIV.  could  not  replace 
James  II.  on  the  throne  !"  And  when  Fortune  declared 
lierself  on  the  side  of  the  Colonists,  Horace,  unmoved 
by  the  reverses  of  his  country,  steadily  preserved  the 
same  tone.  "  We  have  been  horribly  the  aggressors," 
he  wrote  at  the  end  of  1777,  "  and  I  must  rejoice  that  the 
Americans  are  to  be  free,  as  they  had  a  right  to  be,  and 
as  I  am  sure  they  have  shown  they  deserve  to  be."  But 
the  calamities  and  disgraces  of  the  time  weighed  heavily 
on  his  spirits.  His  correspondence  throughout  1777 
and  the  two  following  years  is  full  of  the  American  \\''ar. 
He  recurs  to  the  subject  again  and  again,  and  harps 
upon  it  continually.  It  does  not  fall  within  our  plan  to 
quote  his  criticisms  and  reflections  on  the  conduct  of 
Lord  North  and  his  opponents.  They  are  generally  as 
acute  and  sensible  as  they  are  always  vigorous  and 
lively.  The  chief  mistake  one  remarks  in  them  is,  that 
they  assume  the  victory  of  America  to  mean  the  ruin 
of  England's  Empire.  The  writer  saw  British  troops 
everywhere  defeated,  retreating,  laying  down  their 
arms ;  France  allying  herself  with  the  rebellious 
Colonies,  and  threatening  England  with  invasion ; 
Spain  joining  in  the  hostile  league ;  and  Ireland 
sho\ving  fresh  signs   of   disaffection :    what    wonder  if 


154  Irish  Discontent. 

he  was  tempted  to  predict  that  we  should  "  moulder 
piecemeal  into  our  insignificant  islandhood  ?"'  In  Ma}', 
1779,  he  writes  :  "  Our  oppressive  partiality  to  two  or 
three  manufacturing  towns  in  England  has  revolted  the 
Irish,  and  they  have  entered  into  combinations  against 
purchasing  English  goods  in  terms  more  offensive  than 
the  first  associations  of  the  Colonies.  In  short,  we 
have  for  four  or  five  years  displayed  no  alacrity  or 
address,  but  in  provoking  our  friends  and  furnishing 
weapons  of  annoyance  to  our  enemies  ;  and  the  unhappy 
facility  with  which  the  Parliament  has  subscribed  to  all 
these  oversights  has  deceived  the  Government  into 
security,  and  encouraged  it  to  pull  almost  the  whole 
fabric  on  its  own  head.  We  can  escape  but  b}'  conces- 
sions and  disgrace  ;  and  when  we  attain  peace,  the 
terms  will  prove  that  Parliamentary  majorities  have 
voted  av>ay  the  wisdom,  glory,  and  power  of  the 
nation." 

Before  the  date  of  this  extract,  the  pressure  of  the 
war  had  made  itself  felt  in  English  societ}'.  In  the 
preceding  summer,  Horace  had  written  to  Mason,  then 
engaged  on  his  poem  of  "The  Enghsh  Garden": 

"  Distress  is  already  felt ;  one  hears  of  nothing  but  of 
the  want  of  money  ;  one  sees  it  every  hour.  I  sit  in  my 
Blue  window,  and  miss  nine  in  ten  of  the  carriages  that 
used  to  pass  before  it.  Houses  sell  for  nothing,  which, 
two  years  ago,  nabobs  would  have  given  lacs  of  dia- 
monds for.  Sir  Gerard  Vanneck's  house  and  beautiful 
terrace  on  the  Thames,  with  forty  acres  of  ground,  and 
valued  by  his  father  at   twenty   thousand  pounds,  was 


IVaf?^  of  Money.  1 5  5 

bought  in  last  week  at  six  thousand.  Richmond  is 
deserted  ;  an  hundred  and  twenty  coaches  used  to  be 
counted  at  the  church-door — there  are  now  twenty.  I 
know  nobody  that  grows  rich  but  Margaret.  This 
Halcyon  season  has  brought  her  more  customers  than 
ever,  and  were  anything  to  happen  to  her,  I  have 
thoughts,  like  greater  folk,  of  being  my  own  minister, 
and  showing  my  house  myself.  I  don't  wonder  your 
Garden  has  grown  in  such  a  summer,  and  I  am  glad  it 
has,  that  our  taste  in  gardening  may  be  immortal  in 
verse,  for  I  doubt  it  has  seen  its  best  days !  Your 
poem  may  transplant  it  to  America,  whither  our  best 
works  will  be  carried  now,  as  our  worst  used  to  be. 
Do  not  you  feel  satisfied  in  knowing  you  shall  be  a 
classic  in  a  free  and  rising  empire  ?  Swell  all  your 
ideas,  give  a  loose  to  all  your  poetry  ;  your  lines  will  be 
repeated  on  the  banks  of  the  Orinoko  ;  and  which  is 
another  comfort,  Ossian's  '  Dirges  '  will  never  be  known 
there.  Poor  Strawbeny  must  smkin  face  Romiili  ;  that 
melancholy  thought  silences  me." 

Besides  being  vexed  at  the  state  of  public  affairs, 
Walpole  suffered  much  about  this  time  from  the  gout, 
and  from  family  troubles.  His  nephew.  Lord  Orford, 
having  recovered  from  a  second  attack  of  insanity, 
resolved  on  selling  the  pictures  at  Houghton.  In 
February,  1779,  Horace  writes  to  Lady  Ossory  :  "  The 
pictures  at  Houghton,  I  hear,  and  I  fear,  are  sold  : 
what  can  I  say?  I  do  not  like  even  to  think  on  it.  It 
is  the  most  signal  mortification  to  my  idolatry  for  my 
father's  memory,  that  it  could  receive.     It  is  stripping 


156  The  Houghton  Pictures  Sold. 

the  temple  of  his  glory  and  of  his  affection.  A  madman 
excited  by  rascals  has  burnt  his  Ephesus.  I  must 
never  cast  a  thought  towards  Norfolk  more ;  nor  will 
hear  my  nephew's  name  if  I  can  avoid  it.  Him  I  can 
only  pity ;  though  it  is  strange  he  should  recover  any 
degree  of  sense,  and  never  any  of  feeling !"  The 
transaction  was  not,  in  fact,  at  that  moment  concluded. 
In  the  course  of  the  same  year,  however,  the  whole 
gallery  was  sold  to  the  Empress  of  Russia  for  a  little 
more  than  forty  thousand  pounds.  Walpole  did  not 
think  the  bargain  a  bad  one,  though  he  would  rather, 
he  said,  the  pictures  were  sold  to  the  Crown  of 
England  than  to  that  of  Russia,  where  they  would  be 
burnt  in  a  v/ooden  palace  on  the  first  insurrection, 
while  in  England  they  would  still  be  Sir  Robert  Wal- 
pole's  Collection.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  my  grief  is  that 
they  are  not  to  remain  at  Houghton,  where  he  placed 
them  and  wished  them  to  remain." 

While  grieving  over  his  father's  pictures,  Horace 
found  himself  involved  in  a  Chancery  suit.  The  lease 
of  his  town  house  in  Arlington  Street  running  out  about 
this  time,  he  had  bought  a  larger  house  in  Berkeley 
Square.  Difficulties,  however,  hindered  the  completion 
of  the  purchase,  and  the  affair  went  into  Chancery. 
Fortunately,  under  Walpole's  management,  the  suit 
became  a  friendly  one.  "  I  have  persisted  in  compli- 
menting and  flattering  my  parties,  till  by  dint  of  com- 
plaisance and  respect  I  have  brought  them  to  pique 
themselves  on  equal  attentions  ;  so  that,  instead  of  a 
lawsuit,  it  has  more  the  air  of  a  treaty  between  two 


Removal  to  Berkeley  Square.  1 5  7 

little  German  princes  who  are  mimicking-  their  betters 
only  to  display  their  titular  dignities.  His  Serene  High- 
ness, Colonel  Bishopp,  is  the  most  obsequious  and 
devoted  servant  of  my  Serenity  the  Landgrave  of 
Strawberry."  The  judge  was  equally  agreeable. 
"  Yesterday  I  received  notice  from  my  attorney  that 
the  Master  of  the  Rolls  has,  with  epigrammatic  de- 
spatch, heard  my  cause,  and  pronounced  a  decree  in 
my  favour.  Surely,  the  whip  of  the  new  driver,  Lord 
Thurlow,  has  pervaded  all  the  hard  wheels  of  the  law, 
and  set  them  galloping.  I  must  go  to  town  on  Monday, 
and  get  my  money  ready  for  payment, — not  from  im- 
patience to  enter  on  my  premises,  but  though  the 
French  declare  they  are  coming  to  burn  London,  bank- 
bills  are  still  more  combustible  than  houses,  and  should 
my  banker's  shop  be  reduced  to  ashes,  I  might  have  a 
mansion  to  pay  for,  and  nothing  to  pay  with.  If  both 
were  consumed,  at  least  I  should  not  be  in  debt."  The 
purchase-money  paid,  and  possession  taken,  the  next 
step  was  to  remove  to  Berkeley  Square.  In  October, 
1779,  he  writes  to  Lady  Ossory,  whose  sister-in-law,* 
the  newly-married  Countess  of  Shelburne,  was  just 
established  in  the  same  square : 

"  My  constitution,  which  set  out  under  happy  stars, 
seems  to  keep  pace  with  the  change  of  constellations, 
and  fail  like  the  various  members  of  the  empire.  I  am 
now  confined  with  the  rheumatism  in  my  left  arm,  and 
find  no  benefit  from  our  woollen  manufacture,  which  I 
flattered    myself    would    always   be   a   resource.       On 

*  The  Lady  Louisa  Fitzpatrick  before  lefeired  io.—  See p.  ijr. 


158  I II- health. 

Monday  I  shall  remove  to  Shelburne  Square,  and 
watch  impatiently  the  opening  of  the  Countess's  win- 
dows ;  though  with  all  her  and  her  Earl's  goodness  to 
me,  I  doubt  I  shall  profit  little  of  either.  I  do  not  love 
to  be  laughed  at  or  pitied,  and  dread  exposing  myself 
to  numbers  of  strange  servants  and  3'oung  people,  who 
wonder  what  Methuselah  does  out  of  his  coffin.  Lady 
Blandford  is  gone ;  her  antediluvian  dowagers  dis- 
persed ;  amongst  whom  I  was  still  reckoned  a  lively 
young  creature.  Wisdom  I  left  forty  years  ago  to 
Welbore  Ellis,  and  must  not  pretend  to  rival  him  now, 
when  he  is  grown  so  rich  by  the  semblance  of  it.  Since 
I  cannot  then  act  old  age  Vvdth  dignity,  I  must  keep  my- 
self out  of  the  way,  and  weep  for  England  in  a  corner."' 

The  Lady  Blandford  mentioned  in  this  passage  was 
a  widow  who  had  lived  within  a  few  miles  of  Horace,  at 
Sheen,  and  had  recently  died.  During  her  illness,  Wal- 
pole,  in  writing  to  Lady  Ossor}',  had  dwelt  on  the  Roman 
fortitude  with  which  the  sick  lady  supported  her  suffer- 
ings, and  on  the  devotion  shown  to  her  by  her  friend, 
Miss  Stapylton.  He  added  in  his  usual  strain  .  "  Miss 
Stapylton  has  jr30,ooo,  and  Lady  Blandford  nothing. 
I  wish  v/e  had  some  of  these  exalted  characters  in 
breeches !  These  two  women  shine  like  the  last 
sparkles  in  a  piece  of  burnt  paper,  which  the  chil- 
dren call  the  parson  and  clerk.  Alas  !  the  rest  of  our 
old  ladies  are  otherwise  employed ;  they  are  at  the 
head  of  fleets  and  armies."  Walpole  at  this  moment 
was  altogether  out  of  heart.  "  I  see  myself  a  poor 
invalid,  threatened  with  a  painful  and  irksome  conclu- 


A  Painting  by  Zoffani.  159 

sion,  and  mortified  at  seeing  the  decay  of  my  country 
more  rapid  than  my  own."  But  he  could  still  keep 
up  a  tone  of  gaiet}-.     In  November  he  wrote  to  Mann  : 

"  I  went  this  morning  to  Zoffani's  to  see  his  picture 
or  portrait  of  the  '  Tribune  at  Florence ;'  and,  though 
my  letter  will  not  put  on  its  boots  these  three  days,  I 
must  write  while  the  subject  is  fresh  in  my  head.  The 
first  thing  I  looked  for,  was  yoii — and  I  could  not  find 
you.  At  last  I  said,  '  Pray,  Vv'ho  is  that  Knight  of  the 
Bath  ?' — '  Sir  Horace  Mann.' — '  Impossible  !'  said  I. 
My  dear  Sir,  how  you  have  left  me  in  the  lurch  ! — you 
are  grovv-n  fat,  jolly,  young  :  while  I  am  become  the 
skeleton  of  Methuselah.  .  .  . 

*'*  Well !  but  are  you  really  so  portly  a  personage  as 
Zoffani  has  represented  you  ?  I  envy  you.  Everybody 
can  grow  younger  and  plump,  but  I.  My  brother,  Sir 
Edward  Walpole,  is  as  sleek  as  an  infant,  and,  though 
seventy-three,  is  still  quite  beautiful.  He  has  a  charm- 
ing colour,  and  not  a  wrinkle.  I  told  him,  when  Lord 
Orford*  was  in  danger,  that  he  might  think  what  he 
would,  but  I  would  carry  him  into  the  Court  of  Chan- 
cery, and  put  it  to  the  consciences  of  the  judges,  which 
of  us  two  was  the  elder  by  eleven  years  ?" 

And  two  days  later  we  have  the  followin  amusing 
latter  to  Lady  Ossory : 

"  Berkeley  Square,  Nov.  14,  1779. 
"  I  must  be  equitable  ;  I  must  do  the  world  justice  ; 
there  are  really  some  hopes  of  its  amendment;  I  have 

*  Horace's  nephew,  the  mad  earl. 


1 60  The  Rage  for  Nczvs. 

not  heard  one  lie  these  four  days  ;  but  then,  indeed,  I 
have  heard  nothing.  Well,  then,  why  do  you  write  ? 
Stay,  Madam  ;  my  letter  is  not  got  on  horseback  yet ; 
nor  shall  it  mount  till  it  has  sometliing  to  carr}'.  It  is 
my  duty,  as  your  gazetteer,  to  furnish  you  with  news, 
true  or  false,  and  you  would  certainly  dismiss  me  if  I 
did  not,  at  least,  tell  you  something  that  was  impossible. 
The  whole  nation  is  content  with  hearing  anything 
new,  let  it  be  ever  so  bad.  Tell  the  first  man  you  meet 
that  Ireland  has  revolted ;  away  he  runs,  and  tells 
everybody  he  meets, — everybody  tells  everybody,  and 
the  next  morning  they  ask  for  more  news.  Well, 
Jamaica  is  taken ;  oh,  Jamaica  is  taken.  Next  day, 
what  news  ?  Why,  Paul  Jones  is  landed  in  Rutland- 
shire, and  has  carried  off  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire, 
and  a  squadron  is  fitting  out  to  prevent  it ;  and  I  am  to 
have  a  pension  for  having  given  the  earliest  intelligence; 
and  there  is  to  be  a  new  farce  called  The  RutlandsJiire 
Invasion,  and  the  King  and  Queen  will  come  to  town 
to  see  it,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales  will  not,  because  he 
is  not  old  enough  to  understand  pantomimes.* 

*'  Well,  Madam  ;  having  despatched  the  nation  and 
its  serious  affairs,  one  may  chat  over  private  matters. 
I  have  seen  Lord  Macartney,  and  do  affirm  that  he  is 
shrunk,  and  has  a  soupcon  of  black  that  was  not  wont  to 
reside  in  his  complexion.  .  .  . 

"  J\Ir.  Beauclerk  has  built  a  library  in  Great  Russell 
Street,  Bloomsbury,  that  reaches  half-way  to  Highgate. 

*  The  Prince  was  now  in  his  eighteenth  year,  having  been  born 
on  the  I2th  of  Aujiist,  1762. 


The  Duke  of  Gloucester.  i6i 

Everybody  goes  to  see  it ;  it  has  put  the  Museum's  nose 
quite  out  of  joint. 

**  Now  I  return  to  pohtics.  Sir  Ralph  Payne  and 
Dr.  Johnson  are  answering  General  Burgoyne,  and  they 
say  the  words  are  to  be  so  long  that  the  reply  must  be 
printed  in  a  pamphlet  as  long  as  an  atlas,  but  in  an 
Elzevir  type,  or  the  first  sentence  would  fill  twenty 
pages  in  octavo.  You  may  depend  upon  the  truth  of  it, 
for  Mr.  Cumberland  told  it  in  confidence  to  one  with 
whom  he  is  not  at  all  acquainted,  who  told  it  to  one 
whom  I  never  saw ;  so  you  see,  Madam,  there  is  no 
questioning  the  authority. 

"  I  will  not  answer  so  positively  for  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you,  as  I  had  it  only  from  the  person  himself. 
The  Duke  of  Gloucester  was  at  Bath  with  the  Margrave 
of  Anspach.  Lord  Nugent  came  up  and  would  talk  to 
the  Duke,  and  then  asked  if  he  might  take  the  liberty  of 
inviting  his  Royal  Highness  to  dinner?  I  think  you 
v/ill  admire  the  quickness  and  propriety  of  the  answer  : 
^the  Duke  replied,  '  My  Lord,  I  make  no  acquaintance 
but  in  London,'  where  you  know.  Madam,  he  only  has 
levees.  The  Irishman  continued  to  talk  to  him  even 
after  that  rebuff.  He  certainly  hoped  to  have  been 
very  artful — to  have  made  court  there,  and  yet  not 
have  offended  anywhere  else*  by  not  going  in  town, 
which  would  have  been  a  gross  affront  to  the  Duke,  had 
he  accepted  the  invitation. 

"  I  was  at  Blackheath  t'other  morning,  where  I  was 

♦  The  Duke  was  in  disgrace  with  the  King  on  account  of  his 
marriage. 

II 


t62  Wilh's. 

grieved.  There  are  eleven  Vandcr  Werffs  that  cost  an 
immense  sum ;  half  of  them  are  spoiled  since  Sir 
Gregory  Page's  death  by  servants  neglecting  to  shut 
out  the  sun.  There  is  another  room  hung  with  the 
history  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  in  twelve  small  pictures 
by  Luca  Giordano,  that  are  sweet.  There  is,  too,  a 
glorious  Claude,  some  fine  Teniers,  a  noble  Rubens 
and  Snyders,  two  beautiful  Philippo  Lauras,  and  a  few 
more, — and  several  very  bad.  The  house  is  magnifi- 
cent, but  wounded  me  ;  it  was  built  on  the  model  of 
Houghton,  except  that  three  rooms  are  thrown  into  a 
gallery. 

*'  Now  I  have  tapped  the  chapter  of  pictures,  you 
must  go  and  see  Zoffani's  'Tribune  at  Florence,'  which  is 
an  astonishing  piece  of  work,  with  a  vast  deal  of  merit. 

"  There  too  you  will  see  a  delightful  piece  of  Wilkes 
looking — no,  squinting  tenderly  at  his  daughter.  It  is 
a  caricature  of  the  Devil  acknowledging  Miss  Sin  in 
Milton.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  they  are  under  a 
palm-tree,  which  has  not  grown  in  a  free  country  for 
some  centuries. 

"  With  all  my  pretences,  there  is  no  more  veracity  in 
me  than  in  a  Scotch  runner  for  the  Ministr}'.  Here 
must  I  send  away  my  letter  without  a  word  in  it  worth 
a  straw.  All  the  good  news  I  know  is,  that  a  winter  is 
come  in  that  will  send  armies  and  navies  to  bed,  and 
one  may  stir  out  in  November  without  fear  of  being 
tanned.  I  am  heartily  glad  that  we  shall  keep  Jamaica 
and  the  East  Indies  another  year,  that  one  may  have 


Fas/iions,  Old  and  N^ciu.  16 


J 


time  to  lay  in  a  stock  of  tea  and  sugar  for  the  rest  of 
one's  days.  I  think  only  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  and 
do  not  care  a  rush  for  gold  and  diamonds,  and  the 
pleasure  of  stealing  logwood.  The  friends  of  Govern- 
ment, who  have  thought  of  nothing  but  of  reducing  us 
to  our  islandhood,  and  bringing  us  back  to  the  sim- 
plicity of  ancient  times,  when  we  were  the  frugal, 
temperate,  virtuous  old  English,  ask  bow  we  did  before 
tea  and  sugar  were  known.  Better,  no  doubt ;  but  as 
I  did  not  happen  to  be  born  two  or  three  hundred 
years  ago,  I  cannot  recollect  precisely  whether  diluted 
acorns,  and  barley  bread  spread  with  honey,  made  a 
very  luxurious  breakfast. 

"  I  was  last  night  at  Lady  Lucan's  to  hear  the 
Misses  Bingham  sing  Jomelli's  '  Miserere,'  set  for  two 
voices.  There  were  only  the  Duchess  of  Bedford, 
Lady  Bute  .  .  .  and  half  a  dozen  Irish.  .  .  .  The 
Duchess  told  me,  that  a  habit-maker  returned  from 
Ampthill  is  gone  stark  in  love  with  Lady  Ossory,  on 
fitting  her  with  the  new  dress — I  think  they  call  it  a 
Levite — and  sa3^s  he  never  saw  so  glorious  a  figure.  I 
know  that ;  and  so  you  would  be  in  a  hop-sack.  Madam 
— but  w^here  is  the  grace  in  a  man's  nightgown  bound 
round  with  a  belt  ? 

"  Good-night,  Lady  !  I  hope  I  shall  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you  in  my  next,  that  my  letter  may  be 
shorter. 

"  Codicil  to  my  to-day's  :— viz.  Nov.  15,  1779. 

"  I  enclosed  the  above  to  Lord  Ossory,  because  it 
was  not  woith  sixpence,  and  had  sent  it  to  the  post, 

II— 3 


1 54  Alackerel  Nczus. 

and  then  went  to  Bedford  House,  where,  lo  !  enters 
Lady  Shelburne,  looking  as  fresh  and  ripe  as  Pomona. 
N.B.  Her  windows  were  not  open  yesterday,  and  to- 
day there  was  such  a  mist,  ermined  with  snow,  that  I 
could  not  see.  I  find  it  was  not  a  habit-maker  that 
was  smitten  with  your  Ladyship  as  a  pig  in  a  poke, 
but  somebody  else ;  but  as  her  Grace's  mouth  has  lost 
one  tooth,  and  my  ear,  I  suspect,  another,  I  have  not 
found  out  who  the  unfortunate  man  is, 

"  Next  enters  your  Ladyship's  letter.  I  have  seen 
my  dignity  of  Minister  to  Spain* — many  a  fair  castle 
have  I  erected  in  that  countr}-,  but  truly  never  resided 
there.  .  .  .  This  is  long  enough  for  a  codicil,  in  which 
one  has  nothing  more  to  give." 

In  the  same  lively  mood,  he  writes  about  the  same 
time  to  Mason  : 

"  Berkeley  Square,  Nov.  I  don't  know  what  day. 

"If  you  can  be  content  with  anything  but  news  as 
fresh  as  mackerel,  I  will  tell  you  as  pretty  a  story  as  a 
gentleman  can  hear  in  a  winter's  day,  though  it  has  not 
a  grain  of  novelty  in  it  but  to  those  who  never  heard  it, 
which  was  my  case  till  3-esterday. 

"  When  that  philosophic  tyrant  the  Czarina  (who 
murdered  two  emperors  for  the  good  of  their  people,  to 
the  edification  of  Voltaire,  Diderot,  and  D'Alembert) 
proposed  to  give  a  code  of  laws  that  should  serve  all 
her  subjects  as  much  or  as  little  as  she  pleased,  she 

*  Referring  to  a  rumour  tliat  he  had  been  appointed  ambassador 
to  Spain. 


Pretty  Stories.  165 

ordered  her  various  states  to  send  deputies  who  should 
specify  their  respective  wants.  Amongst  the  rest  came 
a  representative  of  the  Samoieds ;  he  waited  on  the 
marshal  of  the  diet  of  legislation,  who  was  Archbishop 
of  Novgorod.  '  I  am  come,'  said  the  savage,  '  but  I  do 
not  know  for  what.'  '  My  clement  mistress,'  said  his 
Grace,  'means  to  give  a  body  of  laws  to  all  her 
dominions.' — '  Whatever  laws  the  Empress  shall  give 
us,'  said  the  Samoied,  '  we  shall  obey,  but  we  want  no 
laws.' — *  How,'  said  the  Prelate,  '  not  want  laws  !  why, 
you  are  men  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  must  have 
the  same  passions,  and  consequent^  must  murder, 
cheat,  steal,  rob,  plunder,'  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 

'  It  is  true,'  said  the  savage,  '  we  have  now  and  then 
a  bad  person  among  us,  but  he  is  sufficiently  punished 
by  being  shut  out  of  all  society.' 

"  If  you  love  nature  in  its  naturalibus,  you  will  like 
this  tale.  I  think  one  might  make  a  pretty  '  Spectator ' 
by  inverting  the  hint:  I  would  propose  a  general  jail 
delivery,  not  only  from  all  prisons,  but  madhouses,  as 
not  sufficiently  ample  for  a  quarter  of  the  patients  and 
candidates  ;  and  to  save  trouble,  and  yet  make  as 
impartial  distinction,  to  confine  the  virtuous  and  the 
few  that  are  in  their  senses.  But  I  am  digressing,  and 
have  not  yet  told  you  the  storj  I  intended  ;  at  least, 
only  the  first  part. 

"  One  day  Count  Orlow,  the  Czarina's  accomplice  in 
more  ways  than  one,  exhibited  himself  to  the  Samoied 
in  the  robes  of  the  order,  and  rrfulgent  with  diamonds. 
-The    savage    surveyed   him    attentively,    but    silently. 


1 66  Pretty  Stories. 

'  May  I  ask,'  said  the  favourite,  '  wliat  it  is  you  ad- 
mire ?' — *  Nothing,'  repHed  the  Tartar  :  '  I  was  think- 
ing how  ridiculous  you  are,'  — '  Ridiculous,'  cried 
Orlow,  angrily ;  *  and  pray  in  \\hat  ?' — '  Wh}',  you 
shave  your  beard  to  look  young,  and  powder  your 
hair  to  look  old  !' 

"  Well !  as  you  like  my  stories,  I  v/ill  tell  }ou  a  third, 
but  it  is  prodigiously  old,  yet  it  is  the  only  new  trait 
that  I  have  found  in  that  ocean  Bihliotheque  des  Romans, 
which  I  had  almost  abandoned ;  for  I  am  out  of 
patience  with  novels  and  sermons,  that  have  nothing 
new,  when  the  authors  may  say  what  they  will  without 
contradiction. 

"  My  history  is  a  romance  of  the  Amxours  of  Eleanor 
of  Aquitaine,  Queen  of  our  Henry  the  Second.  She  is 
in  love  with  somebody  who  is  in  love  with  somebody 
else.  She  puts  both  in  prison.  The  Count  falls  dan- 
gerously ill,  and  sends  for  the  Queen's  Physician. 
Eleanor  hears  it,  calls  for  the  Physician,  and  gives 
him  a  bowl,  which  she  orders  him  to  prescribe  to  the 
Count.  The  Doctor  hesitates,  doubts,  begs  to  know 
the  ingredients.  —  'Come,'  says  her  Majest}-,  'your 
suspicions  are  just — it  is  poison  ;  but  remember,  it  is  a 
crime  I  want  from  you,  not  a  lecture;  go  and  obey  my 
orders ;  my  Captain  of  the  guard  and  two  soldiers 
shall  accompany  ^-ou,  and  see  that  you  execute  my 
command,  and  give  no  hint  of  my  secret ;  go,  I  will 
have  no  reply:'  the  Physician  submits,  finds  the  pri- 
soner in  bed,  his  mistress  sitting  by.  The  Doctor  feels 
his  pulse,  produces  the  bowl,  sighs,  and  says,  '  My  dear 


Madajue  de  Sdvignd's  Cabinet.  167 

friend,  I  cannot  cure  your  disorder,  but  I  have  a  remedy 
here  for  myself,'  and  swallows  the  poison. 

"  Is  not  this  entirely  new  ?  it  would  be  a  fine  coup  dc 
theatre,  and  yet  would  not  do  for  a  tragedy,  for  the 
Physician  would  become  the  hero  of  the  piece,  would 
efface  the  lovers ;  and  yet  the  rest  of  the  play  could  not 
be  made  to  turn  on  him. 

"  As  all  this  will  serve  for  a  letter  at  any  time,  I  will 
keep  the  rest  of  my  pap^r  for  something  that  will  not 
bear  postponing. 

"  20th. 

"  Come,  my  letter  shall  go,  though  with  only  one 
new  paragraph.  Lord  Weymouth  has  resigned,  as 
well  as  Lord  Gower.  I  believe  that  little  faction 
flattered  themselves  that  their  separation  would  blow 
up  Lord  North,  and  yet  I  am  persuaded  that  sheer 
cowardice  has  most  share  in  Weymouth's  part.  There 
is  such  universal  dissatisfaction,  that  when  the  crack 
is  begun,  the  whole  edifice  perhaps  may  tumble,  but 
where  is  the  architect  that  can  repair  a  single  story  ? 
The  nation  stayed  till  everything  was  desperate,  before 
it  would  allow  that  a  single  tile  was  blown  off." 

At  the  close  of  the  year,  he  is  cheered  by  the  sight  of 
a  precious  relic : 

**  You  are  to  know,  Madam,  that  I  have  in  my 
custody  the  individual  ebony  cabinet  in  which  Madame 
de  Sevigne  kept  her  pens  and  paper  for  writing  her 
matchless  letters.     It  was  preserved  near  Grignan  by 


1 68      Picture  of  his   Waldegrave  Nieces, 

an  old  man  who  mended  her  pens,  and  whose  de- 
scendant gave  it  last  year  to  Mr.  Selwyn,  as  truly 
worthy  of  such  a  sacred  relic.  It  wears,  indeed,  all  the 
outward  and  visible  signs  of  such  venerable  precious- 
ness,  for  it  is  clumsy,  cumbersome,  and  shattered,  and 
inspires  no  more  idea  of  her  spirit  and  Ugercic,  than  the 
mouldy  thigh-bone  of  a  saint  does  of  the  unction  of  his 
sermons.  I  have  full  powers  to  have  it  repaired  and 
decorated  as  shall  seem  good  in  my  own  eyes,  though  I 
had  rather  be  authorised  to  inclose  and  conceal  it  in  a 
shrine  of  gold  and  jewels." 

Towards  the  end  of  May,  1780,  he  writes :  "  Sir 
Joshua  has  begun  a  charming  picture  of  my  three  fair 
nieces,  the  Waldegraves,  and  very  like.  They  are 
embroidering  and  winding  silk ;  I  rather  wished  to 
have  them  drawn  like  the  Graces,  adorning  a  bust  of 
the  Duchess  as  the  Magna  Mater  ;  but  my  ideas  are 
not  adopted."  We  hear  no  more  of  this  picture  for 
some  time.  Attention  was  almost  immediatel}^  en- 
grossed by  the  Gordon  riots.  Walpole  writes  to  Lady 
Ossory  : 

"Berkeley  Square,  June  3,  1 7S0. 
.  **  I  know  that  a  governor  or  gazetteer  ought  not  to 
desert  their  posts,  if  a  town  is  besieged,  or  a  tow^n  is 
full  of  news ;  and  therefore,  Madam,  I  resume  my 
office.  I  smile  to-day — but  I  trembled  last  night ;  for 
an  hour  or  more  I  never  felt  more  anxiety.  I  knew  the 
bravest  of  my  friends  were  barricaded  into  the  House  of 
Commons^  and  every  avenue  to  it  impossible.     Till  I 


The  Gordon  Riots.  169 

heard  the  Horse  and  Foot  Guards  were  gone  to  their 
rescue,  I  expected  nothing  but  some  dire  misfortune ; 
and  the  first  thing  I  heard  this  morning  was  that  part 
of  the  town  had  had  a  fortunate  escape  from  being 
burnt  after  ten  last  night.  You  must  not  expect  order. 
Madam  ;  I  must  recollect  circumstances  as  they  occur  ; 
and  the  best  idea  I  can  give  your  Ladyship  of  the  tumult 
will  be  to  relate  it  as  I  heard  it. 

'*  I  had  come  to  town  in  the  morning  on  a  private 
occasion,  and  found  it  so  much  as  I  left  it,  that  though 
I  saw  a  few  blue  cockades  here  and  there,  I  only  took 
them  for  new  recruits.  Nobody  came  in  ;  between 
seven  and  eight  I  saw  a  hack  and  another  coach  arrive 
at  Lord  Shelburne's,  and  thence  concluded  that  Lord 
George  Gordon's  trumpet  had  brayed  to  no  purpose. 
At  eight  I  went  to  Gloucester  House ;  the  Duchess  told 
me,  there  had  been  a  riot,  and  that  Lord  Mansfield's 
glasses  had  been  broken,  and  a  bishop's,  but  that  most 
of  the  populace  were  dispersed.  About  nine  his  Royal 
Highness  and  Colonel  Heywood  arrived  ;  and  then  we 
heard  a  much  more  alarming  account.  The  concourse 
had  been  incredible,  and  had  by  no  means  obeyed  the 
injunctions  of  their  apostle,  or  rather  had  interpreted 
the  spirit  instead  of  the  letter.  The  Duke  had  reached 
the  House  with  the  utmost  difficulty,  and  found  it  sunk 
from  the  temple  of  dignity  to  an  asylum  of  lamentable 
objects.  There  were  the  Lords  Hillsborough,  Stor- 
mont,  Townshend,  without  their  bags,  and  with  their 
hair  dishevelled  about  their  ears,  and  Lord  Willoughby 
without  his  periwig,  and  Lord  Mansfield,  whose  glasses 


1 70  The  Gordoti  Riots. 

had  been  broken,  quivering  on  the  woolsack  hke  an 
aspen.  Lord  Ashburnham  had  been  torn  out  of  his 
chariot,  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln  ill-treated,  the  Duke  of 
Northumberland  had  lost  his  watch  in  the  holy  hurly- 
burly,  and  Mr.  Mackenzie  his  snuff-box  and  spectacles. 
Alarm  came  that  the  mob  had  thrown  down  Lord 
Boston,  and  were  trampling  him  to  death  ;  which  they 
almost  did.  They  had  diswigged  Lord  Bathurst  on  his 
answering  them  stoutly,  and  told  him  he  was  the  pope, 
and  an  old  woman  ;  thus  splitting  Pope  Joan  into  two. 
Lord  Hillsborough,  on  being  taxed  with  negligence, 
affirmed  that  the  Cabinet  had  the  day  before  empowered 
Lord  North  to  take  precautions  ;  but  two  Justices  that 
were  called  denied  having  received  an}^  orders.  Colonel 
Heywood,  a  very  stout  man,  and  luckily  a  very  cool 
one,  told  me  he  had  thrice  been  collared  as  he  went  by 
the  Duke's  order  to  inquire  what  was  doing  in  the  other 
House  ;  but  though  he  was  not  suffered  to  pass,  he 
reasoned  the  mob  into  releasing  him, — yet,  he  said,  he 
never  saw  so  serious  an  appearance  and  such  deter- 
mined countenances. 

"  About  eight  the  Lords  adjourned,  and  were  suffered 
to  go  home  ;  though  the  rioters  declared  that  if  the 
other  House  did  not  repeal  the  Bill,^  there  would  at 
night  be  terrible  mischief.  Mr.  Burke's  name  had  been 
given  out  as  the  object  of  resentment.  General  Con- 
way I  knew  would  be  intrepid  and  not  give  way;  nor  did 
he,  but  inspired  the  other  House  with  his  own  resolution. 

*  An  Act  passed  in  1778  relaxing  the  penal  laws  against  Roman 
Catholics. 


The  Gordon   Riots,  1 7 1 

Lord  George  Gordon  was  running  backwards  and  for- 
wards, from  the  windows  of  the  Speaker's  Chamber 
denouncing  all  that  spoke  against  him  to  the  mob  in 
the  lobby.  Mr.  Conway  tasked  him  severely  both  in 
the  House  and  aside,  and  Colonel  Murray  told  him  he 
was  a  disgrace  to  his  family.  Still  the  members  were 
besieged  and  locked  up  for  four  hours,  nor  could  divide, 
as  the  lobby  was  crammed.  Mr.  Conway  and  Lord 
Frederick  Cavendish,  with  whom  I  supped  afterwards, 
told  me  there  was  a  moment  when  they  thought  they 
must  have  opened  the  doors  and  fought  their  way  out 
sword  in  hand.  Lord  North  was  very  firm,  and  at  last 
they  got  the  Guards  and  cleared  the  pass. 

"  Blue  banners  had  been  waved  from  tops  of  houses 
at  Whitehall  as  signals  to  the  people,  while  the  coaches 
passed,  whom  they  should  applaud  or  abuse.  Sir 
George  Savile's  and  Charles  Turner's  coaches  were 
demohshed.  Ellis,  whom  they  took  for  a  Popish 
gentleman,  they  carried  prisoner  to  the  Guildhall  in 
Westminster,  and  he  escaped  by  a  ladder  out  of  a 
window.  Lord  Mahon  harangued  the  people  from 
the  balcony  of  a  coffee-house,  and  begged  them  to 
retire." 

In  a  letter  to  Mann  he  continues  the  story : 

"  This  tumult,  which  was  over  between  nine  and  ten 

at  night,  had  scarce  ceased  before  it  broke  out  in  two 

other  quarters.      Old   Haslang's-'  chapel  was  broken 

open   and   plundered;    and,    as    he     is    a    Prince    of 

*  Count  Haslang,  Minister  from  the  Elector  of  Bavaria  :  he  had 
been  here  from  the  year  1740. 


:ij2  The  Gordon  Riots. 

Smugglers  as  well  as  Bavarian  Minister,  great  quan- 
tities of  run  tea  and  contraband  goods  were  found  in 
his  house.  This  one  cannot  lament ;  and  still  less,  as 
the  old  wretch  has  for  these  forty  years  usurped  a  hired 
house,  and,  though  the  proprietor  for  many  years  has 
offered  to  remit  his  arrears  of  rent,  he  will  neither  quit 
the  house  nor  pay  for  it. 

"  Monsieur  Cordon,  the  Sardinian  Minister,  suffered 
still  more.  The  mob  forced  his  chapel,  stole  two  silver 
lamps,  demolished  everything  else,  threw  the  benches 
into  the  street,  set  them  on  fire,  carried  the  brands  into 
the  chapel,  and  set  fire  to  that ;  and,  when  the  engines 
came,  would  not  suffer  them  to  play,  till  the  Guards 
arrived,  and  saved  the  house  and  probably  all  that  part 
of  the  town.  Poor  Madame  Cordon  was  confined  by 
illness.  My  cousin,  Thomas  Walpole,  who  lives  in 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  went  to  her  rescue,  and  dragged 
her,  for  she  could  scarce  stand  with  terror  and  weak- 
ness, to  his  own  house." 

Of  the  events  of  Black  Wednesday,  Horace  was  an 
eye-witness.  His  letters  to  his  Countess  form  a  sort  of 
journal : 

"  Wednesday,  five  o'clock,  June  7,  1780. 

**  I  am  heartily  glad  I  am  come  to  town,  though 
never  was  a  less  delicious  place  ;  but  there  was  no 
bearing  to  remain  philosophically  in  the  country,  and 
hear  the  thousand  rumours  of  every  hour,  and  not 
know  whether  one's  friends  and  relations  were  not 
destroyed.     Yesterday  Newgate  was  burnt,  and  other 


The   Gordon  Riots.  173 

hc»iccs,  and  Lord  Sandwich  near  massacred.  At  Hyde 
Park  Corner,  I  saw  Guards  at  the  Lord  President's 
door,  and  in  Piccadilly,  met  George  Selwyn  and  the 
Signorina,*  whom  I  wondered  he  ventured  there.  He 
came  into  my  chaise  in  a  fury,  and  told  me  Lord  Mans- 
field's house  is  in  ashes,  and  that  five  thousand  men 
were  marched  to  Caen  Wood — it  is  true,  and  that  one 
thousand  of  the  Guards  are  gone  after  them.  A  camp 
of  ten  thousand  is  forming  in  Hyde  Park  as  fast  as 
possible,  and  the  Berkshire  militia  is  just  arrived. 
Wedderburn  and  Lord  Stormont  are  threatened,  and 
I  do  not  know  who.  The  Duchess  of  Beaufort  sent  an 
hour  ago  to  tell  me  Lord  Ashburnham  had  just  adver- 
tised her  that  he  is  threatened,  and  was  sending  away 
his  poor  bedridden  Countess  and  children  ;  and  the 
Duchess  begged  to  know  what  I  proposed  to  do.  I 
immediately  went  to  her,  and  quieted  her,  and  assured 
her  we  are  as  safe  as  we  can  be  anywhere,  and  as 
little  obnoxious  ;  but  if  she  was  alarmed,  I  advised  her 
to  remove  to  Netting  Hill,  where  Lady  Mar}^  Coke  is 
absent.  The  Duchess  said  the  mob  were  now  in 
Saville  Row  ;  we  sent  thither,  and  so  they  are,  round 
Colonel  Woodford's,  who  gave  the  Guards  orders  to  fire 
at  Lord  Mansfield's,  where  six  at  least  of  the  rioters 
were  killed. 

"  The  mob  are  now  armed,  having  seized  the  stores 
in  the  Artillery  Ground. 

"  If  anything  can  surprise  your  Ladyship,  it  will  be 
what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  Lord  George  Gordon 
*  Mademoiselle  Fagniani,  Sehvyn's  adopted  daughter. 


174  "^^^^  Gordon  Riots. 

went  to  Buckingham  House  this  morning,  and  asked  an 
audience  of  the  King.  Can  you  be  more  surprised  still  ? 
— He  was  refused. 

"I  must  finish,  for  I  am  going  about  the  town  to 
learn,  and  see,  and  hear.  Caen  Wood  is  saved  ;  a 
regiment  on  march  met  the  rioters. 

**  It  will  probably  be  a  black  night :  I  am  decking 
myself  with  blue  ribbons,  like  a  May-day  garland. 
Horsemen  are  riding  by  with  muskets.  I  am  sorry 
I  did  not  bring  the  armour  of  Francis  I.  io  town,  as  I 
am  to  guard  a  Duchess  Dowager  and  an  heiress.  Will 
it  not  be  romantically  generous  if  I  yield  the  latter  to 
my  nephew? 

'*  From  my  garrison  in  Berkeley  Square. 

"  Wednesday  night,  past  two  in  the  morning,  June  7,  17S0. 

"  As  it  is  impossible  to  go  to  bed  (for  Lady  Betty 
Compton  has  hoped  I  would  not  this  very  minute, 
which,  next  to  her  asking  the  contrary,  is  the  thing  not 
to  be  refused),  I  cannot  be  better  employed  than  in 
proving  how  much  I  think  of  your  Ladyship  at  the 
most  horrible  moment  I  ever  saw.     You  shall  judge. 

"  I  was  at  Gloucester  House  between  nine  and  ten. 
The  servants  announced  a  great  fire  ;  the  Duchess,  her 
daughters,  and  I  went  to  the  top  of  the  house,  and 
beheld  not  only  one  but  two  vast  fires,  which  we  took 
for  the  King's  Bench  and  Lambeth  ;  but  the  latter  was 
the  New  Prison,  and  the  former  at  least  was  burning  at 
midnight.  Colonel  Heywood  came  in  and  acquainted 
his  Royal  Highness  that   nine  houses  in  Great  Queen 


The  Gordon  Riots.  175 

Street  had  been  gutted,  and  the  furniture  burnt ;  and 
he  had  seen  a  great  Catholic  distiller's  at  Holborn 
Bridge  broken  open  and  all  the  casks  staved ;  and 
since,  the  house  had  been  set  on  fire. 

"  At  ten  I  went  to  Lord  Hertford's,  and  found  him 
and  his  sons  charging  muskets.  Lord  Rockingham  has 
two  hundred  soldiers  in  his  house,  and  is  determined  to 
defend  it.  Thence  I  went  to  General  Conway's,  and  in 
a  moment  a  servant  came  in  and  said  there  was  a  great 
fire  just  by.  We  went  to  the  street-door  and  thought  it 
was  St.  Martin's  Lane  in  flames,  but  it  is  either  the 
Fleet  Prison  or  the  distiller's.  I  forgot  that  in  the 
court  of  Gloucester  House  I  met  Colonel  Jennings,  who 
told  me  there  had  been  an  engagement  at  the  Royal 
Exchange  to  defend  the  Bank,  and  that  the  Guards 
had  shot  sixty  of  the  mob  ;  I  have  since  heard  seventy, 
for  I  forgot  to  tell  your  Ladyship  that  at  -a. great  council, 
held  this  evening  at  the  Queen's  House,  at  which  Lord 
Rockingham  and  the  Duke  of  Portland  were  present, 
military  execution  was  ordered,  for,  in  truth,  the  Jus- 
tices dare  not  act. 

"  After  supper  I  returned  to  Lady  Hertford,  finding 
Charing  Cross,  and  the  Haymarket,  and  Piccadilly, 
illuminated  from  fear,  though  all  this  end  of  the  town 
is  hitherto  perfectly  quiet,  lines  being  drawn  across  the 
Strand  and  Holborn,  to  prevent  the  mob  coming  west- 
ward. Henry  and  William  Conway  arrived,  and  had 
seen  the  populace  break  open  the  toll-houses  on  Black- 
friars  Bridge,  and  carry  off  bushels  of  halfpence,  which 
fell  about  the  streets,  and  then  they  set  fire  to  the  toll- 


I'/Q  TJie  Gordon  Riots. 

houses.  General  Conway's  porter  had  seen  five  distinct 
conflagrations. 

"  Lady  Hertford's  cook  came  in,  white  as  this  paper. 
He  is  a  German  Protestant,  He  said  his  house  had  been 
attacked,  his  furniture  burnt ;  that  he  had  saved  one 
child,  and  left  another  with  his  wife,  whom  he  could 
not  get  out ;  and  that  not  above  ten  or  twelve  persons 
had  assaulted  his  house.  I  could  not  credit  this,  at 
least  was  sure  it  was  an  episode  that  had  no  connec- 
tion with  the  general  insurrection,  and  was  at  most 
some  pique  of  his  neighbours.  I  sent  my  own  footman 
to  the  spot  in  Woodstock  Street ;  he  brought  me  word 
there  had  been  eight  or  ten  apprentices  who  made  the 
riot,  that  two  Life  Guardsmen  had  arrived  and  secured 
four  of  the  enemies.  It  seems  the  cook  had  refused  to 
illuminate  like  the  rest  of  the  street.  To-morrow  I 
suppose  his  Majesty  King  George  Gordon  will  order 
their  release  ;  they  will  be  inflated  with  having  been 
confessors,  and  turn  heroes. 

"  On  coming  home  I  visited  the  Duchess  Dowager 
and  my  fair  ward  ;  and  am  heartily  tired  with  so  many 
expeditions,  for  which  I  little  imagined  I  had  youth 
enough  left. 

"  We  expect  three  or  four  more  regiments  to-morrow, 
besides  some  troops  of  horse  and  militia  already  arrived. 
We  are  menaced  with  counter-squadrons  from  the 
country.  There  will,  I  fear,  be  much  blood  spilt  before 
peace  is  restored.  The  Gordon  has  already  surpassed 
Masaniello,  who  I  do  not  remember  set  his  own  capital 
on  fire.     Yet  I  assure  your  ladyship  there  is  no  panic. 


The  Gordon  Riots.  177 

Lady  A3lesbury  has  been  at  the  play  in  the  Haymarket, 
and  the  Duke  and  my  four  nieces  at  Ranelagh,  this 
evening.  For  my  part,  I  think  the  common  diversions 
of  these  last  four-and-twenty  hours  are  sufficient  to 
content  any  moderate  appetite  ;  and  as  it  is  now  three 
in  the  morning,  I  shall  wish  you  good  night,  and  try 
to  get  a  little  sleep  myself,  if  Lord  George  Macbeth 
has  not  murdered  it  all.  I  own  I  shall  not  soon 
forget  the  sight  I  saw  from  the  top  of  Gloucester 
House. 

"  Thursday  morning,  after  breakfast. 
"  I  do  not  know  whether  to  call  the  horrors  of  the 
night  greater  or  less  than  I  thought.  My  printer,  who 
has  been  out  all  night,  and  on  the  spots  of  action,  says, 
not  above  a  dozen  were  killed  at  the  Royal  Exchange, 
some  few  elsewhere  ;  at  the  King's  Bench,  he  does  not 
know  how  many ;  but  in  other  respects  the  calamities 
are  dreadful.  He  saw  many  houses  set  on  fire,  women 
and  children  screaming,  running  out  of  doors  with  what 
they  could  save,  and  knocking  one  another  down  with 
their  loads  in  the  confusion.  Barnard's  Lm  is  burnt, 
and  some  houses,  mistaken  for  Catholic.  Kirgate*  says 
most  of  the  rioters  are  apprentices,  and  plunder  g.nd 
drink  have  been  their  chief  objects,  and  both  women 
and  men  are  still  lying  dead  drunk  about  the  streets  : 
brandy  is  preferable  to  enthusiasm.  I  trust  many  more 
troops  will  arrive  to-day.  What  families  ruined!  What 
wretched  wives  and  mothers  !  What  public  disgrace  ! 
— ay  !  and  where,  and  when,  and  how  will  all  this  con- 

*  Walpole's  printer. 

12 


178  The  Gordon  Riots. 

fusion  end  !  and  what  shall  vv^e  be  when  it  is  concluded? 
I  remember  the  Excise  and  the  Gin  Act,  and  the 
rebels  at  Derb}-,  and  Wilkes's  interlude,  and  the  French 
at  Plymouth ;  or  I  should  have  a  very  bad  memory ; 
but  I  never  till  last  night  saw  London  and  Southv/ark 
in  flam.es  ' 

"After  dinner. 

*'  It  is  a  moment,  I\f  adam,  when  to  be  surprised  is 
not  surprising.  But  what  will  you  say  to  the  House  of 
Commons  meeting  by  twelve  o'clock  to-day,  and  ad- 
journing, ere  fifty  members  were  arrived,  to  Monday 
se'nnight  !     So  adieu  all  government  but  the  sword  ! 

"  Will  your  Ladyship  give  me  credit  when  I  heap 
contradictions  on  absurdities  —  will  you  believe  such 
confusion  and  calamities,  and  3-et  think  there  is  no  con- 
sternation ?  Vv'ell,  only  hear.  My  niece,  Mrs.  Keppel, 
with  her  three  daughters,  drove  since  noon  over  West- 
minster Bridge,  through  St.  George's  Fields,  where  the 
King's  Bench  is  smoking,  over  London  Bridge,  passed 
the  Bank,  and  came  the  whole  length  of  the  Cit}- ! 
They  have  been  here,  and  say  the  people  looli  ver}- 
unquiet ;  but  can  one  imagine  that  they  v^'ould  be 
smiling  ?  Old  Lady  Albemarle,  who  followed  me  in  a 
fev/  minutes  from  Gloucester  House,  was  robbed  at 
Mrs.  Keppel's  door  in  Pall  ]\Iall,  between  ten  and 
eleven,  by  a  horseman.  Sparrow,  one  of  the  delivered 
convicts,  who  v/as  to  have  been  hanged  this  morning, 
is  said  to  have  been  shot  yesterday  as  he  was  spiriting 
up  the  rioters.    Kirgate  has  just  heard  in  the  Park,  that 


The  Gordon  Riots.  179 

the  Protestant  Association  disavow  the  seditious,  and 
will  take  up  arms  against  them.  If  we  are  saved,  it  will 
be  so  as  by  fire. 

"  I  shall  return  to  my  own  castle  to-morrow  :  I  had 
not  above  four  hours'  sleep  last  night,  and  must  get 
some  rest.  General  Conway  is  enraged  at  the  adjourn- 
ment, and  will  go  away  too.  Many  coaches  and  chaises 
did  leave  London  yesterday.  My  intelligence  will  not 
be  so  good  nor  so  immediate  ;  but  you  will  not  want 
correspondents.  Disturbances  are  threatened  again 
for  to-night ;  and  some  probabl}'  will  happen,  but 
there  are  more  troops,  and  less  alacrity  in  the  out- 
laws. 

"  Berkeley  Square,  June  9,  at  noon,  1780. 

"  All  has  been  quiet  to-night,  as  far  as  we  know  in 
this  region  ;  but  not  without  blood  being  spilt  yester- 
day. The  rioters  attacked  the  Horse  Guards  about  six 
in  Fleet  Street,  and,  not  giving  them  time  to  load,  were 
repelled  by  the  bayonet.  Twenty  fell,  thirt3'-five  were 
wounded  and  sent  to  the  hospital,  where  two  died 
directly.  Three  of  the  Guards  were  wounded,  and  a 
young  officer  named  Marjoribank.  Mr.  Conway's  foot- 
man told  me  he  was  on  a  message  at  Lord  Amherst's 
when  the  Guards  returned,  and  that  their  bayonets 
were  steeped  in  blood. 

"  I  heard,  too,  at  my  neighbour  Duchess's,  whither  I 
went  at  one  in  the  morning,  that  the  Protestant  Asso- 
ciators,  disguised  with  blue  cockades  as  friends,  had 
fallen  on  the  rioters  in  St.  George's  Fields,  and  killed 

12 — 2 


1  So  TJie  Gordon  Riots. 

many.  I  do  not  warrant  the  truth,  but  I  did  hear  often 
in  the  evening  that  there  had  been  slaughter  in  the 
Borough,  where  a  great  pubhc-house  had  been  de- 
stro3'ed,  and  a  house  at  Redriffe,  and  another  at 
Ishngton.  Zeal  has  entirely  thrown  off  the  mask,  and 
owned  its  name — plunder.  Its  offspring  have  extorted 
money  from  several  houses  with  threats  of  firing  them 
as  Catholic.  Apprentices  and  Irish  chairmen,  and  all 
kinds  of  outlaws,  have  been  the  most  active.  Some 
hundreds  are  actually  dead  about  the  streets,  with  the 
spirits  they  plundered  at  the  distiller's  ;  the  low  w^omen 
knelt  and  sucked  them  as  they  ran  from  the  staved 
casks. 

"  It  was  reported  last  night  that  the  primate,  George 
Gordon,  is  fled  to  Scotland  :  for  aught  I  know  he  may 
not  be  so  far  off  as  Grosvenor  Place.  All  is  rumour 
and  exaggeration ;  and  yet  it  w^ould  be  difficult  to 
exaggerate  the  horrors  of  Wednesday  night ;  a  town 
taken  by  storm  could  alone  exceed  them. 

*'  I  am  going  to  Strawberry  this  instant,  exhausted 
with  fatigue,  for  I  have  certainly  been  on  my  feet  longer 
these  last  eight-and-foiiy  hours  than  in  forty  days 
before.  ... 

"  Adieu !  Madam  ;  allow  my  pen  a  few  holidays, 
unless  the  storm  recommences." 

On  hearing  that  Lord  George  Gordon  had  been 
arrested,  he  writes  again  : 

*'  Strawberry  Hill,  Saturday  night,  late. 
**  Was  not  I  cruelly  out  of  luck.  Madam,  to  have  been 


The  Gordon  Riots.  1 8  r 

fishing  in  troubled  waters  for  two  days  for  your  Lady- 
ship's entertainment,  and  to  have  come  away  very  few 
hours  before  the  great  pike  was  hooked  ?  Well,  to  drop 
metaphor,  here  are  Garth's  lines  reversed, 

'Thus  little  villains  oft  submit  to  fate, 
That  great  ones  may  enjoy  the  world  in  state.' 

Four  convicts  on  the  eve  of  execution  are  let  loose 
from  Newgate,  and  Lord  George  Gordon  is  sent  to  the 
Tower.  If  he  is  hanged,  the  old  couplet  will  recover 
its  credit,  for  Mr.  Wedderburn  is  Chief  Justice. 

"  I  flatter  myself  I  shall  receive  a  line  from  your 
Ladyship  to-morrow  morning  :  I  am  impatient  to  hear 
what  you  think  of  black  Wednesday.  I  know  how  much 
3'ou  must  have  been  shocked,  but  I  long  to  read  your 
own  expressions  ;  when  you  answer,  then  one  is  con- 
versing. My  sensations  are  very  different  from  what 
they  were,  \\4iile  in  the  thick  of  the  conflagration,  I 
was  all  indignation  and  a  thousand  passions.  Last 
night,  when  sitting  silently  alone,  horror  rose  as  I 
cooled ;  and  grief  succeeded,  and  then  all  kinds  of 
gloomy  presages.  For  some  time  people  have  said, 
where  will  all  this  end  ?  I  as  often  replied,  where  wall 
it  begin  ?  It  is  now  begun,  with  a  dreadful  overturcr; 
and  I  tremble  to  think  what  the  chorus  may  be  !  The 
sword  reigns  at  present,  and  saved  the  capital  !  What 
is  to  depose  the  sword  ? — Is  it  not  to  be  feared,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  other  swords  may  be  lifted  up  ? — What 
probability  that  everything  will  subside  quietly  into  the 
natural  channel  ? — Nay,  how  narrow  will  that  channel 


1 82  The  Gordon  Riots. 

be,  whenever  the  prospect  is  cleared  by  peace  ?  \\Miat 
a  dismal  fragment  of  an  empire  !  3-et  would  that  moment 
were  come  when  we  are  to  take  a  survey  of  our  ruins  [ 
That  moment  I  probably  shall  not  see.  When  I  rose 
this  morning,  I  found  the  exertions  I  had  made  with 
such  puny  powers,  had  been  far  bej^ond  what  I  could 
bear ;  I  was  too  sick  to  go  on  with  dressing  myself. 
This  evening  I  have  been  abroad,  and  you  shall  hear  no 
more  of  it.  I  have  been  with  Lady  Di,  at  Richmond, 
where  I  found  Lady  Pembroke,  Miss  Herbert,  and  Mr. 
Brudenell.  Lord  Herbert  is  arrived.  They  told  me  the 
melancholy  position  of  Lady  Westmorland.  She  is 
sister  of  Lord  George  Gordon,  and  wife  of  Colonel 
Woodford,  who  is  forced  to  conceal  himself,  having 
been  the  first  officer  who  gave  orders  to  the  soldiers  to 
fire,  on  the  attack  of  Lord  Mansfield's  house.  How 
many  still  more  deplorable  calamities  from  the  tragedv 
of  this  week  that  one  shall  never  hear  of !  I  will  change 
my  style,  and,  like  an  epilogue  after  a  moving  piece, 
divert  you  with  a  bon-inot  of  George  Selwyn.  He  came 
to  me  yesterday  morning  from  Lady  Townshend,  who, 
terrified  by  the  fires  of  the  preceding  night,  talked  the 
language  of  the  Court,  instead  of  Opposition.  He  said 
she  put  him  in  mind  of  removed  tradesmen,  who  hang- 
out a  board  with,  '  Burnt  out  from  over  the  way." 
Good-night,  Madam,  till  I  receive  your  letter. 

"  Monday  morning,  the  I2tli. 

"  Disappointed  !  disappointed  !  not  a  line  from  your 
Lad}-ship  ;  I   will  not  send  away  this  till  I  hear  from 


The  Gordon  Rials.  183 

you.  Last  night,  at  Hampton  Court,  I  heard  of  two 
Popish  chapels  demolished  at  Bath,  and  one  at  Bristol. 
My  coachman  has  just  been  in  Twickenham,  and  says 
half  Bath  is  burnt ;  I  trust  this  is  but  the  natural  pro- 
gress of  lies,  that  increase  like  a  chairman's  legs  by 
walking.  Mercy  on  us  !  we  seem  to  be  plunging  into 
the  horrors  of  France,  in  the  reigns  of  Charles  VI.  and 
VII.  ! — yet,  as  extremes  meet,  there  is  at  this  moment 
amazing  insensibihty.  Within  these  four  days  I  have 
received  five  applications  for  tickets  to  see  my  house ! 
One  from  a  set  of  company  who  fled  from  town  to  avoid 
the  tumults  and  fires.  I  suppose  .^neas  lost  Creusa  by 
her  stopping  at  Sadlers'  Wells. 

'•13th. 

''The  letter  I  have  this  moment  received  is  so  kind. 
Madam,  that  it  effaces  all  disappointment.  Indeed,  my 
impatience  made  me  forget  that  no  post  comes  in  here 
on  Mondays.  To-day's  letters  from  town  mention  no 
disturbance  at  Bristol  or  anyv/here  else.  Every  day 
gained  is  considerable,  at  least  will  be  so  when  there  has 
been  time  for  the  history  of  last  week  to  have  spread, 
and  intelligence  from  the  distant  counties  to  be  returned. 
All  I  have  heard  to-day  is  of  some  alteration  to  be 
made  to  the  Riot  Act,  that  Lord  George  cannot  be 
tried  this  month,  and  that  the  King  will  go  to  the 
House  on  Monda}-.  I  w^ill  now  answer  what  is  neces- 
sary in  your  Ladyship's  and  take  my  leave,  for,  as  you 
observe,  the  post  arrives  late,  and  I  have  other  letters 
that  I  must  answer.    Mr.  Williams  interrupted  me,  and 


184  Death  of  Madame  du  Deffaud. 

has  added  a  curious  anecdote, — and  a  horrible  one,  to 
my  collection  of  the  late  events.  One  project  of  the 
diabolical  incendiaries  was  to  let  loose  the  lions  in  the 
Tower,  and  the  lunatics  in  Bedlam.  The  latter  might 
be  from  a  fellow-feeling  in  Lord  George,  but  cannibals 
do  not  invite  wild  beasts  to  their  banquets.  The 
Princess  Daskiou  v/ill  certainly  communicate  the 
thought  to  her  mistress  and  accomplice,  the  Legisla- 
tress  of  Russia. 

*'  P.S.  I  like  an  ironic  sentence  in  yesterday's  London 
Courant,  which  says,  all  our  grievances  are  red-dressed." 

To  complete  the  misfortunes  of  these  years,  Walpole 
lost  his  "  blind  old  woman  "  in  the  autumn  of  1780. 
Under  date  October  9th,  he  writes  from  Strawberry 
Hill  to  Mann : 

'*  I  have  heard  from  Paris  of  the  death  of  my  dear 
old  friend  Madame  du  Deffand,  whom  I  went  so  often 
thither  to  see.  It  was  not  quite  unexpected,  and  was 
softened  by  her  great  age,  eighty-four,  which  forbad 
distant  hopes  ;  and,  by  what  I  dreaded  more  than  her 
death,  her  increasing  deafness,  which,  had  it  become, 
like  her  blindness,  total,  would  have  been  living  after 
death.  Her  memory  onl}^  bcga;i  to  impair  ;  her  amazing 
sense  and  quickness,  not  at  all.  I  have  written  to  her 
once  a  week  for  these  last  fifteen  3'ears,  as  correspon- 
dence and  conversation  could  be  her  only  pleasures. 
You  see  that  I  am  the  most  faithful  letter-writer  in  the 
world — and,  alas  !  never  see  those   I  am   so  constant 


Death  of  Madame  du  Dejjand.  1S5 

to !  One  is  forbidden  common-place  reflections  on 
these  misfortunes,  because  they  arc  common-place  ;  but 
is  not  that,  because  they  are  natural  ?  But  your  never 
having  known  that  dear  old  woman  is  a  better  reason 
for  not  making  you  the  butt  of  my  concern." 

Three  weeks  later  we  have  the  following  from  London 
to  Lady  Ossory  : 

"  As  I  have  been  returned  above  a  fortnight,  I  should 
have  written  had  I  had  a  syllable  to  tell  you  ;  but  what 
could  I  tell  you  from  that  melancholy  and  very  small 
circle  at  Twickenham  Park,  almost  the  only  place  I  do 
go  to  in  the  country,  partly  out  of  charity,  and  partly  as 
I  have  scarce  any  other  society  left  which  I  prefer  to  it; 
for,  without  entering  on  too  melancholy  a  detail,  recol- 
lect. Madam,  that  I  have  outlived  most  of  those  to 
whom  I  was  habituated.  Lady  Hervey,  Lady  Suffolk, 
Lady  Blandford  —  my  dear  old  friend  [Madame  du 
Deffand],  I  should  probably  never  have  seen  again — 
yet  that  is  a  deeper  loss,  indeed !  She  has  left  me  all 
her  MSS. — a  compact  between  us — in  one  word  I  had, 
at  her  earnest  request,  consented  to  accept  them,  on 
condition  she  should  leave  me  nothing  else.  She  had, 
indeed,  intended  to  leave  me  her  little  all,  but  I  declared 
I  would  never  set  foot  in  Paris  again  (this  was  ten  years 
ago)  if  she  did  not  engage  to  retract  that  destination. 
To  satisfy  her,  I  at  last  agreed  to  accept  her  papers, 
and  one  thin  gold  box  with  the  portrait  of  her  dog.  I 
have  written  to  beg  her  dog  itself,  which  is  so  cross,  that  I 
am  sure  nobody  else  would  treat  it  well ;  and  I  have 


1 86  The  Blue  Stockim^s. 

ordered  her  own  servant,  who  read  all  letters  to  her, 
to  pick  out  all  the  letters  of  living  persons,  and 
restore  them  to  the  several  writers  without  m)-  seein;^ 
them." 

Walpole's  liking  for  accomplished  French  women  like 
Madam.e  du  Deffand  was  equalled  by  his  dislike  of  the 
English  "  Blue-stockings/'  At  the  beginning  of  17S1,  he 
seems  to  have  been  a  good  deal  in  company  with  the 
latter,  and  we  have  some  amusing  passages  :  "  I  met 
Mrs.  Montagu  t'other  night  at  a  visit.  She  said  she 
had  been  alone  the  whole  preceding  day,  quite  hermeti- 
cally scaled — I  was  very  glad  she  was  uncorked,  or  I 
might  have  missed  that  piece  of  learned  nonsense.  .  .  . 
I  was  much  diverted  with  \omx  setting  I^Irs.  Montagu 
on  her  head,  which  indeed  she  does  herself  without  the 
help  of  Hermes.  She  is  one  of  my  principal  entertain- 
m.ents  at  ?»Irs.  Vesey's,  who  collects  all  the  graduates 
and  candidates  for  fame,  where  they  vie  with  one 
another,  till  tlie}^  are  as  unintelligible  as  the  good  folks 
at  Babel." 

*'Mr.  Gilpin*  talks  of  my  researches,  which  makes  me 
smile  ;  I  know,  as  Gray  would  have  said,  how  little  I 
have  researched,  and  what  slender  pretensions  are  mine 
to  so  pompous  a  term.  Apropos  to  Gray,  Johnson's 
'  Life,'  or  rather  criticism  on  his  Odes,  is  come  out ;  a 
most  wretched,  dull,  tasteless,  v:rhal  criticism — 3'et, 
timid  too.     But  he  makes  amends,  he  admires  Thom- 

*  Author  of  an  "Essay  on  Flints,"  the  third  edition  of  which  he 
dedicated  to  Horace  \Valpole. 


The  Blue  Stock iuf^s.  187 

son  and  Akensicie,  and  Sir  Richard  Blackmore,  and  has 
reprinted  Dennis's  '  Criticism  on  Cato,'  to  save  time, 
and  swell  his  pay.  In  short,  as  usual,  he  has  proved 
that  he  has  no  more  ear  than  taste.  Mrs.  Montagu  and 
all  her  Maenades  intend  to  tear  him  limb  from  limb  for 
despising  their  moppet  Lord  Lyttelton." 

"  I  saw  Dr.  Johnson  last  night  at  Lady  Lucan's,  who 
had  assembled  a  hlnc-stocking  meeting  in  imitation  of 
Mrs.  Vesey's  Babels.  It  was  so  blue,  it  was  quite 
Mazarine-blue.  Mrs.  Ivlontagu  kept  aloof  from  Johnson, 
like  the  West  from  the  East.  There  were  Soame 
Jenyns,  Persian  Jones,  Mr.  Sherlocke,  the  new  court 
with  Mr.  Courtenay,  besides  the  out-pensioners  of 
Parnassus.  Mr.  Wraxall*  was  not,  I  wonder  why,  and 
so  will  he,  for  he  is  popping  into  every  spot  where  he  can 
make  himself  talked  of,  by  talking  of  himself;  but  I 
hear  he  will  come  to  an  untimely  beginning  in  the  House 
of  Commons."' 

*  Afterwards  Sir  Nathaniel  William  Wraxall,  Bart.,  known  by  his 
•'  Memoirs  of  His  Own  Life." 


J  88        VValpole  in  his  Sixty-foitrth   Year. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Walpole  in  his  Sixtj-fourth  Year. — The  Royal  Academy. — Tonton. 
—  Charles  Fox. — William  Pitt. — Mrs.  Hoban's  Sans  Soitci. — 
Improvements  a<.  Florence. — Walpole's  Dancing  Feats. — No 
Feathers  at  Court. — Highwaymen. — Loss  of  the  Royal  George. — 
Mrs.  Siddons. — Peace. — Its  Social  Consequences. — The  Coali- 
tion.— The  Rivals. — Political  Excitement.— The  Westminster 
Election. — Political  Caricatures. — Conway's  Retirement. — Lady 
Harrington. — Balloons. — Illness.— Recovery. 

"  I  NEVER  remonstrate  against  the  behests  of  Dame 
Prudence,  though  a  lady  I  never  got  acquainted  with 
till  near  my  grand  climacteric."  So  wrote  Horace  soon 
after  passing  the  mystic  period,  compounded  of  seven 
and  nine,  which  was  once  regarded  as  the  topmost 
round  in  the  ladder  of  human  life.  He  would  have  his 
correspondents  believe  that  his  attention  to  the  dame's 
commands  was  not  very  regular  at  first.  In  the  spring 
of  1 78 1,  he  is  able  to  report  to  Conway,  "  My  health  is 
most  flourishing  for  me."  Accordingly,  he  goes  about  a 
good  deal,  and  enjoys  a  sort  of  rejuvenescence.  Of 
course,  he  visits  the  Exhibition  of  the  Royal  Academy 
at  Somerset  House,  where  Reynolds's  picture  of  the 
1-adies  Waldegrave  was  shown.     "  The  Exhibition,"  he 


^  iy..e/Yru^A 


■^yK'J-CH^A-fJ^y  -yf-e/aruru/j. 


The  Royal  Academy.  189 

writes  to  Mason,  "  is  much  inferior  to  last  year's  f' 
nobody  shines  there  but  Sir  Joshua  and  Gainsborough. 
The  head  of  the  former's  Dido  is  very  fine ;  I  do  not 
admire  the  rest  of  the  piece.  His  Lord  Richard  Caven- 
dish is  bold  and  stronger  than  he  ever  coloured.  The 
picture  of  my  three  nieces  is  charming.  Gainsborough 
has  two  pieces  with  land  and  sea,  so  free  and  natural 
that  one  steps  back  for  fear  of  being  splashed.  The 
back  front  of  the  Academy  is  handsome,  but  like  the 
other  to  the  street,  the  members  are  so  heavy,  that  one 
cannot  stand  back  enough  to  see  it  in  any  proportion, 
unless  in  a  barge  moored  in  the  middle  of  the  Thames." 
The  same  da}',  May  6,  he  writes  to  Conway  from  Straw- 
berry Hill: 

"  Though  it  is  a  bitter  north-east,  I  came  hither  to- 
day to  look  at  my  lilacs,  though  a  la  glace ;  and  to  get 
from  pharaoh,  for  which  there  is  a  rage.  I  doated  on 
it  above  thirty  years  ago ;  but  it  is  not  decent  to  sit  up 
all  night  now  with  boys  and  girls.  j\Iy  nephew,  Lord 
Cholmondele}-,  the  banker  a  la  mode,  has  been  de- 
molished. He  and  his  associate.  Sir  Willoughby 
Aston,  went  early  t'other  night  to  Brooks's,  before 
Charles  Fox  and  Fitzpatrick,  who  keep  a  bank  there, 
were  come ;  but  they  soon  arrived,  attacked  their 
rivals,  broke  their  bank,  and  won  above  four  thousand 
pounds.  '  There,'  said  Fox,  '  so  should  all  usurpers  be 
served !'  He  did  still  better;  for  he  sent  for  his  trades- 
men, and  paid  as  far  as  the  money  would  go.     In  the 

*  This  was  the  second  Exhibition  at  Somerset  House.  The  first 
was  in  May,  1780. 


1 90  Tontoa. 

mornings  he  continues  his  war  on   Lord   North,   but 
cannot  break  that  bank.  .  .  . 

**  I  told  you  in  my  last  that  Tonton  was  arrived.  I 
brought  him  this  morning  to  take  possession  of  his  new 
villa,  but  his  inauguration  has  not  been  at  all  pacific. 
As  he  has  already  found  out  that  he  may  be  as  despotic 
as  at  St.  Joseph's,  he  began  with  exiling  my  beautiful 
little  cat ;  upon  which,  however,  we  shall  not  quite 
agree.  He  then  flew  at  one  of  my  dogs,  who  returned 
it  by  biting  his  foot  till  it  bled,  but  was  severely  beaten 
for  it.  I  immediately  rung  for  !\Iargaret  to  dress  his 
foot  ;  but  in  the  midst  of  my  tribulation  could  not 
keep  my  countenance  ;  for  she  cried,  '  Poor  little  thing, 
he  does  not  understand  my  language  !'  I  hope  she  will 
not  recollect,  too,  that  he  is  a  Papist  1" 

We  have  a  further  anecdote  of  Charles  Fox  told  a 
few  days  later,  also  in  a  letter  to  Conway  : 

'•'  I  had  been  to  see  if  Lady  Aylesbury  was  come  to 
town :  as  I  came  up  St.  James's  Street,  I  saw  a  cart 
and  porters  at  Charles's  door ;  coppers  and  old  chests 
of  drawers  loading.  In  short,  his  success  at  faro  has 
awakened  his  host  of  creditors  ;  but  unless  his  bank  has 
swelled  to  the  size  of  the  Bank  of  England,  it  could  not 
have  yielded  a  sop  apiece  for  each.  Epsom,  too,  had 
been  unpropitious ;  and  one  creditor  has  actually 
seized  and  carried  off  his  goods,  which  did  not  seem 
worth  removing.  As  I  returned  full  of  this  scene,  whom 
should  I  find  sauntering  by  my  own  door  lut  Charles  ? 
He  came  up,  3.nd  talked  to  me  at  the  coach -window  00 


Charles  Fox.  191 

the  Marriage  Bill,-  with  as  much  sang-froid  as  if  he 
knew  nothing  of  what  had  happened.  I  have  no  ad- 
miration for  insensibility  to  one's  own  faults,  especially 
when  committed  out  of  vanity.  Perhaps  the  whole 
philosophy  consisted  in  the  commission.  If  you  could 
have  been  as  much  to  blame,  the  last  thing  you  would 
bear  well  would  be  5.'our  own  reflections.  The  more 
marvellous  Fox's  parts  are,  the  more  one  is  provoked  at 
his  follies,  which  comfort  so  many  rascals  and  block- 
heads, and  make  all  that  is  admirable  and  amiable  in 
him  only  matter  of  regret  to  those  who  like  him  as  I  do.t 

■■■  On  the  7lh  of  June,  Mr.  Fox  moved  for  leave  to  bring  in  a  bill 
to  amend  the  Act  of  the  26ih  of  George  II.,  for  preventing  clandes- 
tine marriages.  The  bill  passed  the  Commons,  but  was  rejected  by 
the  Lords. 

t  "Mr.  Fox  never  had  much  intimate  intercourse  with  Horace 
Walpole  ;  did  not,  I  think,  like  him  at  all  ;  had  no  opinion  of  his 
judgment  or  conduct ;  probably  had  imbibed  some  prejudice  against 
him,  for  his  ill-usage  of  his  father  ;  and  certainly  entertained  an 
unfavourable,  and  even  unjust,  opinion  of  his  abilities  as  a  writer." 
.So  says  Lord  Vassall- Holland  in  one  of  the  passages  from  his  pea 
printed  in  Russell's  Memorials  of  Fox.  See  vol.  i.,  p.  276.  It  may 
be  mentioned  here,  that  Lord  Holland's  Collections  for  the  Life  of 
Fox,  which  are  contained  in  the  work  just  referred  to,  include 
numerous  extracts  from  manuscript  papers  of  Horace  Walpole. 
"These  papers,  the  property  of  Lord  Waldegrave,  were  lent  to 
me,"  says  Lord  Holland,  "  and  liave  been  long  in  my  possession." 
That  the  manuscripts  to  which  Lord  Holland  thus  had  access  com- 
prised the  portion  of  Walpole's  correspondence  with  Mann,  which 
was  first  published  in  1843,  appears  by  several  passages  which  hii 
lordship  quotes  from  these  letters.  Is  it  possible  that  this  circum- 
stance may  furnish  a  solution  of  the  ethnological  question,  to 
which  we  have  adverted  on  p.  141,  as  to  the  descent  of  Macaulay's 
New  Zealander  from  Walpole's  Peruvian?  From  1831  Macaulay 
had  been  an  Jiabitiic  of  Holland  House.  Trevelyan's  "  Life  of  Lord 
Ma:aulay,"'  vc!-  i.  p.  176,  et  seq. 


192  William  Pill. 

"  I  did  intend  to  settle  at  Strawberry  on  Sunday;  but 
must  return  on  Thursday,  for  a  party  made  at  Marl- 
borough House  for  Princess  Amelia.  I  am  continually 
tempted  to  retire  entirely;  and  should,  if  I  did  not  see 
how  very  unfit  English  tempers  are  for  living  quite  out 
of  the  world.  We  grow  abominably  peevish  and  severe 
on  others,  if  we  are  not  constantly  rubbed  against  and 
polished  by  them.  I  need  not  name  friends  and  rela- 
tions of  yours  and  mine  as  instances.  My  prophecy  on 
the  short  reign  of  faro  is  verified  already.  The  bankers 
find  that  all  the  calculated  advantages  of  the  game  do 
not  balance  pinchbeck  parolis  and  debts  of  honourable 
women.  The  bankers,  I  think,  might  have  had  a  pre- 
vious and  more  generous  reason,  the  very  bad  air  of 
holding  a  bank : — but  this  country  is  as  hardened 
against  the  petite  morale,  as  against  the  greater. — 
What  should  I  think  of  the  world  if  I  quitted  it 
entirely  ?" 

Again  a  few  days,  and  we  come  upon  an  early 
mention  of  the  youthful  William  Pitt :  "  The  young 
William  Pitt  has  again  displayed  paternal  orator}-. 
The  other  day,  on  the  Commission  of  Accounts,  he 
answered  Lord  North,  and  tore  him  limb  from  limb. 
If  Charles  Fox  could  feel,  one  should  think  such  a 
rival,  with  an  unspotted  character,  would  rouse  him. 
What  if  a  Pitt  and  Fox  should  again  be  rivals  !"'  Some 
time  later,  Walpole  asks  Lady  Ossory  :  "  Apropos  of 
bon-mots,  has  our  lord  told  you  that  George  Selwyn 
calls  Mr.  Fox  and  Mr.  Pitt  '  the  idle  and  the  industrious 


Mrs.  Hobart's  Sans  Soiici  193 

apprentices  '  ?     If  he  has  not,  I  am  sure  you  will  thank 
me,  Madam." 

In  the  summer  of  1781,  Horace  has  a  touch  of 
rheumatism,  but  still  he  keeps  up  his  juvenile  tone. 
Witness  the  two  following  letters  to  Lady  Ossory : 

"Strawberry  Hill,  July  7,  1781. 

"  You  must  be,  or  will  be,  tired  of  my  letters.  Madam  ; 
every  one  is  a  contradiction  to  the  last ;  there  is  alter- 
nately a  layer  of  complaints,  and  a  layer  of  foolish 
spirits.  To-day  the  wind  is  again  in  the  dolorous 
corner.  For  these  four  days  I  have  been  confined 
with  a  pain  and  swelling  in  my  face.  The  apothecary 
says  it  is  owing  to  the  long  drought  ;  but  as  I  should 
not  eat  grass  were  there  ever  such  plenty,  and  as  my 
cows,  though  starving,  have  no  swelled  cheeks,  I  do  not 
believe  him.  I  humbly  attribute  my  frequent  disorders 
to  my  longevity,  and  to  that  Proteus  the  gout,  who  is 
not  the  less  himself  for  being  incog.  Excuses  I  have 
worn  out,  and,  therefore,  will  not  make  any  for  not 
obe3ang  your  kind  invitation  again  to  Ampthill.  I  can 
only  say,  I  go  nowhere,  even  when  Tonton  is  invited — 
except  to  balls  — and  yet  though  I  am  the  last  Vestris 
that  has  appeared,  Mrs.  Hobart  did  not  invite  me  to 
her  Sans  Souci  last  week,  though  she  had  all  my  other 
juvenile  contemporaries,  Lady  Berkeley,  Lady  Fitzroy, 
Lady  Margaret  Compton,  and  Mrs.  French,  etc.  Per- 
haps you  do  not  know  that  the  lady  of  the  fete,  having 
made  as  many  conquests  as  the  King  of  Prussia,  has 
borrowed  the  name  of  that  hero's  villa  for  her  hut  on 

13 


194  Improvements  at  Florence. 

Ham  Common,  where  she  has  built  two  large  rooms  of 
timber  under  a  cabbage.  Her  field  officers,  General 
French,  General  Compton,  etc.,  were  sweltered  in  the 
ball-room,  and  then  frozen  at  supper  in  tents  on  the 
grass.  She  herself,  as  intrepid  as  King  Frederic,  led 
the  ball,  though  dying  of  the  toothache,  which  she  had 
endeavoured  to  drown  in  laudanum  ;  but  she  has  kept 
her  bed  ever  since  the  campaign  ended. 

"  This  is  all  I  know  in  the  world,  for  the  war 
seems  to  have  taken  laudanum  too,  and  to  keep  its  bed. 

"  I  have  received  a  letter  to-day  from  Sir  Horace 
Mann,  who  tells  me  the  Great-Duke  has  been  making 
■wondrous  improvements  at  Florence.  He  has  made  a 
passage  through  the  Tribune,  and  built  a  brave  new 
French  room  of  stucco  in  white  and  gold,  and  placed 
the  Niobe  in  it ;  but  as  everybody  is  tired  of  her  telling 
her  old  story,  she  and  all  the  Master  and  W\ss  Niobes 
are  orderly  disposed  round  the  chamber,  and  if  anybody 
asks  who  they  are,  I  suppose  they  answer,  Francis 
Charles  Ferdinand  Ignatius  Neopomucenus,  or  Maria 
Theresa  Christina  Beatrice,  etc.  Well,  Madam,  have 
I  any  cause  to  sigh  that  the  pictures  at  Houghton  are 
transported  to  the  North  Pole,  if  the  Tribune  at  Flo- 
rence is  demolished  by  Vandals,  and  Niobe  and  her 
progeny  dance  a  cotillon  ?  O  sublunary  grandeur,  short- 
lived as  a  butterfly  !  We  smile  at  a  clown  who  graves  the 
initials  of  his  name,  or  the  shape  of  his  shoe,  on  the 
leads  of  a  church,  in  hopes  of  being  remembered,  and 
yet  he  is  as  much  known  as  king  I  don't  know  whom, 
who  built  the  Pyramids  to  eternise  his  memory.     Me- 


Dancing  Feats,  195 

thinks  Anacreon  was  the  only  sensible  philosopher.  If 
I  loved  wine,  and  should  look  well  in  a  chaplet  of  roses, 
I  would  crown  myself  with  flowers,  and  go  tipsy  to  bed 
every  night  sans  souci. 

^'July  25,  1781. 

**  Poor  human  nature,  what  a  contradiction  it  is  !  to- 
day it  is  all  rheumatism  and  morality,  and  sits  with  a 
death's  head  before  it :  to-morrow  it  is  dancing  ! — Oh  ! 
my  Lady,  my  Lady,  what  will  you  say,  when  the  next 
thing  you  hear  of  me  after  my  last  letter  is,  that  I  have 
danced  three  country-dances  with  a  whole  set,  forty 
years  younger  than  myself !  Shall  not  you  think  I  have 
been  chopped  to  shreds  and  boiled  in  Medea's  kettle  ? 
Shall  not  you  expect  to  see  a  print  of  Vestris  teaching 
me  ? — and  Lord  Brudenell  dying  with  envy  ?  You  may 
stare  with  all  your  expressive  eyes,  yet  the  fact  is  true. 
Danced — I  do  not  absolutely  say,  danced — but  I  swam 
down  three  dances  very  gracefully,  with  the  air  that  was 
so  much  in  fashion  after  the  battle  of  Oudenarde,  and 
that  was  still  taught  when  I  was  fifteen,  and  that  I 
remember  General  Churchill  practising  before  a  glass  in 
a  gouty  shoe. 

"  To  be  sure  you  die  with  impatience  to  know  the 
particulars.  You  must  know  then — for  all  my  revels 
must  out — I  not  only  went  five  miles  to  Lady  Ayles- 
ford's  ball  last  Friday,  but  my  nieces,  the  Waldegraves^ 
desired  me  there  to  let  them  come  to  me  for  a  few  days, 
as  they  had  been  disappointed  about  a  visit  they  were 
to  make  at  another  place  ;  but  that  is  neither  here  nor 
there.     Well,  here  they  are,  and  last  night  we  went  to 

13 — a 


196  Dancing  Feats. 

Lady  Hertford  at  Ditton.  Soon  after,  Lady  North  and 
her  daughters  arrived,  and  besides  Lady  Ehzabeth  and 
Lady  Bell  Conway s,  there  were  their  brothers  Hugh 
and  George.  All  'dxQ  jmnessc  strolled  about  the  garden. 
We  ancients,  with  the  Earl  and  Colonel  Keene,  retired 
from  the  dew  into  the  drawing-room.  Soon  after,  the 
two  youths  and  seven  nymphs  came  in,  and  shut  the 
door  of  the  hall.  In  a  moment,  we  heard  a  burst  of 
laughter,  and  thought  we  distinguished  something  like 
the  scraping  of  a  fiddle.  My  curiosity  was  raised,  I 
opened  the  door,  and  found  four  couples  and  a  half 
standing  up,  and  a  miserable  violin  from  the  ale-house. 
*  Oh,'  said  I,  '  Lady  Bell  shall  not  want  a  partner;'  I 
threw  away  my  stick,  and  me  voila  dansant  conime  wi 
charme !  At  the  end  of  the  third  dance,  Lord  North 
and  his  son,  in  boots,  arrived.  '  Come,'  said  I,  *  my 
Lord,  you  may  dance,  if  I  have ' — but  it  ended  in  my 
resigning  my  place  to  his  son. 

"  Lady  North  has  invited  us  for  to-morrow,  and  I 
shall  reserve  the  rest  of  my  letter  for  the  second  volume 
of  my  regeneration  ;  however,  I  declare  I  will  not  dance. 
I  will  not  make  myself  too  cheap ;  I  should  have  tlie 
Prince  of  Wales  sending  for  me  three  or  four  times  a 
week  to  hops  in  Eastcheap.  As  it  is,  I  feel  I  shall  have 
some  difficulty  to  return  to  my  old  dowagers,  at  the 
Duchess  of  Montrose's,  and  shall  be  humming  the 
Hempdressers,  when  they  are  scolding  me  for  playing 
in  flush. 

"  Friday,  the  27th. 
**  I  am  not  only  a  prophet,  but  have  more  command 


No  Feathers  at  Coin^t.  197 

of  my  passions  than  such  impetuous  gentry  as  prophets 
are  apt  to  have.  We  found  the  fiddles  as  I  foretold ; 
and  yet  I  kept  my  resolution  and  did  not  dance,  though 
the  Sirens  invited  me,  and  though  it  would  have  shocked 
the  dignity  of  old  Tiffany  Ellis,  who  would  have  thought 
it  an  indecorum.  The  two  younger  Norths  and  Sir 
Ralph  Payne  supplied  my  place.  I  played  at  cribbage 
with  the  matrons,  and  we  came  away  at  midnight. 
So  if  I  now  and  then  do  cut  a  colt's  tooth,  I  have 
it  drawn  immediately.  I  do  not  know  a  paragraph 
of  news — the  nearer  the  minister,  the  farther  from 
politics. 

"  P.S.  My  next  jubilee  dancing  shall  be  with  Lady 
Gertrude." 

Not  long  after  the  date  of  these  letters,  Mann  sends 
news  of  further  improvements  at  Florence.  Walpole 
answers : 

"  The  decree*  you  sent  me  against  high  heads  diverted 
me.  It  is  as  necessary  here,  but  would  not  have  such 
expeditious  effect.  The  Queen  has  never  admitted 
feathers  at  Court ;  but,  though  the  nation  has  grown 
excellent  courtiers,  Fashion  remained  in  opposition, 
and  not  a  plume  less  was  worn  anywhere  else.  Some 
centuries  ago,  the  Clergy  preached  against  monstrous 
head-dresses  ;  but  Religion  had  no  more  power  than 
our  Queen.  It  is  better  to  leave  the  Mode  to  its  own 
vagaries  ;  if  she  is  not  contradicted,  she  seldom  remains 
long  in  the  same  mood.     She  is  very  despotic ;  but, 

*  An  ordinance  of  the  Great-Duke  against  high  head-dresses. 


198  Highwaymen. 

though  her  reign  is  endless,  her  laws  are  repealed  as 
fast  as  made." 

The  frequency  of  highway  robberies  only  a  century 
ago  sounds  surprising  to  the  present  generation. 
Horace  recounts  to  Lady  Ossory  an  adventure  of  this 
kind  which  befell  him  and  his  friend  and  neighbour, 
Lady  Browne,  in  the  autumn  of  this  jovial  1781  : 

"  The  night  I  had  the  honour  of  writing  to  your  Lady- 
ship last,  I  was  robbed — and,  as  if  I  were  a  sovereign 
or  a  nation,  have  had  a  discussion  ever  since  whether  it 
was  not  a  neighbour  who  robbed  me — and  should  it 
come  to  the  ears  of  the  newspapers,  it  might  produce 
as  ingenious  a  controversy  amongst  our  anon3'mous  wits 
as  any  of  the  noble  topics  I  have  been  mentioning. 
Void  Ic  fait.  Lady  Browne  and  I  were,  as  usual,  going 
to  the  Duchess  of  Montrose  at  seven  o'clock.  The 
evening  was  very  dark.  In  the  close  lane  under  her 
park-pale,  and  within  twenty  yards  of  the  gate,  a  black 
figure  on  horseback  pushed  by  between  the  chaise  and 
the  hedge  on  my  side.  I  suspected  it  was  a  highwa}-- 
man,  and  so  I  found  did  Lady  Browne,  for  she  was 
speaking  and  stopped.  To  divert  her  fears,  I  was  just 
going  to  sa)'',  Is  not  that  the  apothecary  going  to  the 
Duchess  ?  when  I  heard  a  voice  cry  '  Stop !'  and  the 
hgure  came  back  to  the  chaise.  I  had  the  presence  of 
mind,  before  I  let  down  the  glass,  to  take  out  my  watch 
and  stuff  it  within  my  waistcoat  under  my  arm.  He 
said,  *  Your  purses  and  watches  !'  I  replied,  '  I  have 
no  watch.'     '  Then  your  purse  !'     I  gave  it  to  him  ;  it 


High  lua)  'men.  1 9  9 

had  nine  guineas.  It  was  so  dark  that  I  could  not  see 
his  hand,  but  felt  him  take  it.  He  then  asked  for  Lady 
Browne's  purse,  and  said,  '  Don't  be  frightened ;  I  will 
not  hurt  you.'  I  said,  '  No  ;  you  won't  frighten  the 
lady  ?'  He  replied,  *  No  ;  I  give  you  my  word  I  will  do 
you  no  hurt.'  Lady  Browne  gave  him  her  purse,  and 
was  going  to  add  her  watch,  but  he  said,  '  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you  !  I  wish  you  good-night  !'  pulled  off  his 
hat,  and  rode  away.  '  Well,'  said  I,  *  Lady  Browne, 
you  will  not  be  afraid  of  being  robbed  another  time,  for 
you  see  there  is  nothing  in  it.'  *  Oh  !  but  I  am,'  said 
she,  '  and  now  I  am  in  terrors  lest  he  should  return,  for 
I  have  given  him  a  purse  with  only  bad  money  that  I 
carry  on  purpose.'  '  He  certainly  will  not  open  it 
directly,'  said  I,  '  and  at  worst  he  can  only  wait  for  us 
at  our  return  ;  but  I  will  send  my  servant  back  for  a 
horse  and  a  blunderbuss,'  which  I  did.  The  next  dis- 
tress was  not  to  terrify  the  Duchess,  who  is  so  paralytic 
and  nervous.  I  therefore  made  Lady  Browne  go  intO' 
the  parlour,  and  desired  one  of  the  Duchess's  servants 
to  get  her  a  glass  of  water,  while  I  went  into  the  draw- 
ing-room to  break  it  to  the  Duchess.  '  Well,'  said  I, 
laughing  to  her  and  the  rest  of  the  company,  *  you  won't 
get  much  from  us  to-night.'  '  Why,'  said  one  of  them, 
'  have  you  been  robbed  ?'  *  Yes,  a  little,'  said  L  The 
Duchess  trembled  ;  but  it  went  off.  Her  groom  of  the 
chambers  said  not  a  word,  but  slipped  out,  and  Lady 
Margaret  and  Miss  Howe  having  servants  there  on 
horseback,  he  gave  them  pistols  and  despatched  them 
different  ways.       This  was  exceedingly  clever,  for  lie 


200  Ilighivaymen, 

knew  the  Duchess  would  not  have  suffered  it,  as  lately 
he  had  detected  a  man  who  had  robbed  her  garden,  and 
she  would  not  allow  him  to  take  up  the  fellow.  These 
servants  spread  the  story,  and  when  my  footman 
arrived  on  foot,  he  was  stopped  in  the  street  by  the 
ostler  of  the  '  George,'  who  told  him  the  highwayman's 
horse  was  then  in  the  stable ;  but  this  part  I  must 
reserve  for  the  second  volume,  for  I  have  made  this  no 
story  so  long  and  so  tedious  that  your  Ladyship  will 
not  be  able  to  read  it  in  a  breath ;  and  the  second  part 
is  so  much  longer  and  so  much  less,  contains  so  many 
examinations  of  witnesses,  so  many  contradictions  in 
the  depositions,  which  I  have  taken  myself,  and,  I  must 
confess,  with  such  abilities  and  shrewdness  that  I  have 
found  out  nothing  at  all,  that  I  think  to  defer  the 
prosecution  of  my  narrative  till  all  the  other  inquisi- 
tions on  the  anvil  are  liquidated,  lest  your  Ladyship's 
head,  strong  as  it  is,  should  be  confounded,  and  you 
should  imagine  that  Rodney  or  Ferguson  was  the 
person  who  robbed  us  in  Twickenham  Lane.  I  would 
not  have  detailed  the  story  at  all,  if  you  were  not  in  a 
forest,  where  it  will  serve  to  put  you  to  sleep  as  well  as 
a  newspaper  full  of  lies  ;  and  I  am  sure  there  is  as  much 
dignity  in  it  as  in  the  combined  fleet,  and  ours,  popping 
in  and  out  alternately,  like  a  man  and  woman  in,  a 
weather-house." 

A  few  months  later  he  writes  to  his  Countess  : 

"  Strawberry  Hill,  Aug.  31,  1782, 

"It  is  very  strange  indeed.  Madam,  that  you  should 
make  me  excuses  for  writing,  or  think  that  I  have  anv- 


Highwaymen.  201 

thing  better,  or  even  more  urgent,  to  do  than  to  read 
your  letters.  It  is  very  true  that  the  Duchess  de  la 
Valliere,  in  a  hand  which  I  could  not  decypher,  has 
recommended  Count  Soltikoff  and  his  wife  to  me  :  but, 
oh !  my  shame,  I  have  not  yet  seen  them.  I  did  mean 
to  go  to  town  to-day  on  purpose,  but  I  have  had  the 
gout  in  my  right  eyelid,  and  it  was  swelled  yesterday  as 
big  as  a  walnut ;  being  now  shrunk  to  less  than  a  pis- 
tachio, I  propose  in  two  or  three  days  to  make  my 
appearance.  Luckily  the  Countess  was  born  in  Eng- 
land, the  daughter  of  the  former  Czernichew,  and  she  is 
in  such  terrors  of  highwaymen,  that  I  shall  be  quit  for 
a  breakfast ;  so  it  is  an  ill  highwayman  that  blows 
nobody  good.  In  truth,  it  would  be  impossible,  in  this 
region,  to  amass  a  set  of  company  for  dinner  to  meet 
them.  The  Hertfords,  Lady  Holdernesse,  and  Lady 
Mary  Coke  did  dine  here  on  Thursday,  but  were  armed 
as  if  going  to  Gibraltar ;  and  Lady  Cecilia  Johnston 
would  not  venture  even  from  Petersham — for  in  the 
town  of  Richmond  they  rob  even  before  dusk — to  such 
perfection  are  all  the  arts  brought !  Who  would  have 
thought  that  the  war  with  America  would  make  it 
impossible  to  stir  from  one  village  to  another  ?  yet  so  it 
literally  is.  The  Colonies  took  off  all  our  commodities 
down  to  highwaymen.  Now  being  forced  to  mew,  and 
then  turn  them  out,  like  pheasants,  the  roads  are  stocked 
with  them,  and  they  are  so  tame  that  they  even  come 
into  houses. 

"  I  have  just  been  reading  a  most  entertaining  book, 
which  I  will  recommend  to  you,  as  you  are  grown  anti- 


202  Loss  of  the  "  Royal  George!' 

quaries  :  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  published  yet,  for 
the  author  sent  it  to  me.  Part  was  pubHshed  some 
time  ago  in  the  '  Archasologia,'  and  is  almost  the  only 
paper  in  that  mass  of  rubbish  that  has  a  grain  of 
common  sense.  It  is  '  Mr.  E.  King  on  ancient  Castles.' 
You  will  see  how  comfortably  and  delectably  our  potent 
ancestors  lived,  when  in  the  constant  state  of  war  to 
which  we  are  coming.  Earls,  barons,  and  their  fair 
helpmates  lived  pell-mell  in  dark  dungeons  with  their 
own  soldiers,  as  the  poorest  cottagers  do  now  with  their 
pigs.  I  shall  repent  decking  Strawberry  so  much,  if  I 
must  turn  it  into  a  garrison. 

"  Mr.  Vernon  was  your  Ladyship's  informant  about 
the  Soltikoffs ;  but  he  gave  me  more  credit  for  my 
intended  civilities  than  I  deserved.  The  French  do 
not  conceive,  when  they  address  strangers  to  us,  that  we 
do  not  at  all  live  in  their  style.  It  is  no  trouble  to 
them,  who  have  miscellaneous  dinners  or  suppers,  to 
ask  one  or  two  more ;  nor  are  they  at  any  expense  in 
language,  as  everybody  speaks  French.  In  the  private 
way  in  which  I  live,  it  is  troublesome  to  give  a  formal 
dinner  to  foreigners,  and  more  so  to  find  company  for 
them  in  a  circle  of  dowagers,  who  would  only  jabber 
English  scandal  out  of  the  Morning  Post.  .  .  . 

"Just  this  moment  I  hear  the  shocking  loss  of  the 
Royal  George !  Admiral  Kempenfelt  is  a  loss  indeed ; 
but  I  confess  I  feel  more  for  the  hundreds  of  poor  babes 
who  have  lost  their  parents !  If  one  grows  ever  so 
indifferent,  some  new  calamity  calls  one  back  to  this 
deplorable  war  !    If  one  is  willing  to  content  one's  self. 


Mrs.  Siddous,  205 

in  a  soaking  autumn,  with  a  match  broken,  or  with  the 
death  of  a  Prince  Duodecimus,  a  clap  of  thunder 
awakens  one,  and  one  hears  that  Britain  herself  has 
lost  an  arm  or  a  leg.  I  have  been  expecting  a  deluge, 
and  a  famine,  and  such  casualties  as  enrich  a  Sir 
Richard  Baker ;  but  we  have  all  King  David's  options 
at  once  !  and  what  was  his  option  before  he  was 
anointed,  freebooting  too  ? 

"  Drowned  as  we  are,  the  country  never  was  in  such 
beauty ;  the  herbage  and  leafage  are  luxurious.  The 
Thames  gives  itself  Rhone  airs,  and  almost  foams  ;  it  is 
none  of  your  home-brewed  rivers  that  Mr.  Brown  makes 
with  a  spade  and  a  watering-pot.  Apropos,  Mr.  Duane,* 
like  a  good  housewife,  in  the  middle  of  his  grass-plot,  has 
planted  a  pump  and  a  watering-trough  for  his  cow,  and 
I  suppose  on  Saturdays  dries  his  towels  and  neckcloths 
on  his  orange-trees ;  but  I  must  have  done,  or  the  post 
will  be  gone." 

At  the  end  of  1782,  Mrs.  Siddons  was  the  talk  of  the 
town.  Prejudiced  as  Walpole  was  apt  to  be  in  his 
judgments  of  actors,  as  of  authors,  his  impressions  of 
this  famous  actress  will  be  read  with  interest ; 

"  I  have  been  for  two  days  in  town,  and  seen  Mrs. 
Siddons.  She  pleased  me  beyond  my  expectation,  but 
not  up  to  the  admiration  of  the  ion,  two  or  three  of 
whom  were  in  the  same  box  with  me.  .  .  .  Mr.  Craw- 
ford asked  me  if  I  did  not  think  her  the  best  actress  I 

*  A  neighbour  at  Twickenham, 


204  Mrs.  Siddons 

ever  saw  ?  I  said,  *  By  no  means ;  we  old  folks  were 
apt  to  be  prejudiced  in  favour  of  our  first  impressions.' 
She  is  a  good  figure,  handsome  enough,  though  neither 
nose  nor  chin  according  to  the  Greek  standard,  beyond 
which  both  advance  a  good  deal.  Her  hair  is  either 
red,  or  she  has  no  objection  to  its  being  thought  so,  and 
had  used  red  powder.  Her  voice  is  clear  and  good ; 
but  I  thought  she  did  not  vary  its  modulations  enough, 
nor  ever  approach  enough  to  the  familiar — but  this 
may  come  when  more  habituated  to  the  awe  of  the 
audience  of  the  capital.  Her  action  is  proper,  but  with 
little  variety  ;  when  without  motion,  her  arms  are  not 
genteel.  Thus  you  see  all  my  objections  are  very 
trifling  ;  but  what  I  really  wanted,  but  did  not  find,  was 
originality,  which  announces  genius,  and  without  both 
which  I  am  never  intrinsically  pleased.  All  Mrs. 
Siddons  did,  good  sense  or  good  instruction  might  give. 
I  dare  to  say,  that  were  I  one-and-twenty,  I  should 
have  thought  her  marvellous  ;  but  alas !  I  remember 
Mrs.  Porter  and  the  Dumesnil — and  remember  every 
accent  of  the  former  in  the  very  same  part.  Yet  this 
is  not  entirely  prejudice :  don't  I  equally  recollect  the 
whole  progress  of  Lord  Chatham  and  Charles  Towns- 
hend,  and  does  it  hinder  my  thinking  Mr.  Fox  a 
prodigy  ? — Pray  don't  send  him  this  paragraph  too." 

Again  : 

"  Mrs.  Siddons  continues  to  be  the  mode,  and  to  be 
modest  and  sensible.  She  declines  great  dinners,  and 
says  her  business  and  the  cares  of  her  family  take  up 


Peace.  205 

her  whole  time.  When  Lord  Carlisle  carried  her  the 
tribute-money  from  Brooks's,  he  said  she  was  not 
manievh  enough.  *  I  suppose  she  was  grateful,'  said 
my  niece.  Lady  Maria.  Mrs.  Siddons  was  desired  to 
play  *  Medea  '  and  '  Lady  Macbeth.' — *  No,'  she  replied 
*  she  did  not  look  on  them  as  female  characters.'  She 
was  questioned  about  her  transactions  with  Garrick  : 
she  said,  '  He  did  nothing  but  put  her  out ;  that  he 
told  her  she  moved  her  right  hand  when  it  should  have 
been  her  left.  In  short,'  said  she,  '  I  found  I  must  not 
shade  the  tip  of  his  nose.'  " 

The  war  was  now  over.  Lord  North  had  fallen  ;  his 
successor.  Lord  Rockingham,  was  dead  ;  and  Lord  Shel- 
burne,  who  had  grasped  the  helm  in  spite  of  Fox,  had  to 
meet  the  demands  of  the  victorious  Colonists  and  their 
French  allies,  with  the  certainty  that  whatever  he 
arranged  would  be  distasteful  to  his  countrymen,  and 
bitterly  opposed  by  the  partisans  both  of  his  rival  and  of 
North.  With  the  first  weeks  of  1783  came  news  of  peace. 
Horace  writes  about  it,  in  almost  the  same  words,  to 
Mann  and  Lady  Ossory,  his  two  chief  correspondents 
at  this  time  :  "  Peace  is  arrived.  I  cannot  express  how 
glad  I  am.  I  care  not  a  straw  what  the  terms  are, 
which  I  believe  I  know  more  imperfectly  than  anybody 
in  London.  I  am  not  apt  to  love  details — my  wish  was 
to  have  peace,  and  the  next  to  see  America  secure  of  its 
liberty.  Whether  it  will  make  good  use  of  it,  is  another 
point.  It  has  an  opportunity  that  never  occurred  in 
the  world  before,  of  being  able  to  select  the  best  parts 
of  every  known  constitution  ;  but  I  suppose  it  will  not. 


2o6  Consequences  of  Peace. 

as  too  prejudiced  against  royalty  to  adopt  it,  even  as  a 
corrective  of  aristocracy  and  democracy."  He  antici- 
pates that  highway  robberies  will  grow  more  daring  on 
the  disbanding  of  troops,  and  that  there  will  be  an 
inundation  of  French  visitors.  In  less  than  six  months 
he  was  able  to  boast  that  both  his  prophecies  had  been 
fulfilled.  In  June,  he  describes  how,  on  a  dark  and 
rainy  night,  Strawberry  Hill  was  invaded  by  the  French 
Ambassador  at  the  head  of  a  large  party : 

"  Of  all  houses  upon  earth,  mine,  from  the  painted 
glass  and  over-hanging  trees,  wants  the  sun  the  most ; 
besides  the  Star  Chariiber  and  passage  being  obscured 
on  purpose  to  raise  the  Gallery.  They  ran  their  fore- 
heads against  Henry  VII.,  and  took  the  grated  door  of 
the  Tribune  for  the  dungeon  of  the  castle.  I  mustered 
all  the  candlesticks  in  the  house,  but  before  they  could 
be  lighted  up,  the  young  ladies,  who,  by  the  way,  are 
extremely  natural,  agreeable,  and  civil,  were  seized 
with  a  panic  of  highwaj-men,  and  wanted  to  go.  I 
laughed,  and  said,  I  believed  there  was  no  danger,  for 
that  I  had  not  been  robbed  these  tsvo  3-ears.  However, 
I  was  not  quite  in  the  right ;  they  were  stopped  in 
Knightsbridge  by  two  footpads,  but  Lady  Pembroke 
having  lent  them  a  servant  besides  their  own,  they 
escaped." 

Shortly  afterwards  he  writes  to  ?^Iann : 

"  We  have  swarms  of  French  daily ;  but  they  come 
cs  if  they  had  laid  wagers  that  there  is  no  such  place  as 
England,  and  only  wanted  to  verify  its  existence,  or 


The  Coalition,  207 

that  they  had  a  mind  to  dance  a  minuet  on  English 
ground ;  for  they  turn  on  their  heel  the  moment  after 
landing.  Three  came  to  see  this  house  last  week,  and 
walked  through  it  literally  while  I  wrote  eight  lines  of  a 
letter ;  for  I  heard  them  go  up  the  stairs,  and  heard 
them  go  down,  exactly  in  the  time  I  was  finishing  no 
longer  a  paragraph..  It  were  happy  for  me  had  nobody 
more  curiosity  than  a  Frenchman ;  who  is  never  struck 
with  anything  but  what  he  has  seen  every  day  at  Paris. 
I  am  tormented  all  day  and  every  day  by  people  that 
come  to  see  my  house,  and  have  no  enjoyment  of  it  in 
summer.  It  would  be  even  in  vain  to  say  that  the 
plague  is  here.  I  remember  such  a  report  in  London 
when  I  was  a  child,  and  my  uncle.  Lord  Townshend, 
then  Secretary  of  State,  was  forced  to  send  guards  to 
keep  off  the  crowd  from  the  house  in  which  the 
plague  was  said  to  be  ;  they  would  go  and  ^q&  the 
plague  1" 

Walpole  apologises  to  his  diplomatic  correspondent  for 
dwelling  on  such  trifling  topics.  "  The  Peace,"  he  says, 
"  has  closed  the  chapter  of  important  news,  which  was 
all  our  correspondence  lived  on."  The  period  of  dulness 
and  inaction,  however,  came  to  an  end  with  the  close  of 
the  Parliamentary  vacation.  The  Coalition  Government 
of  Fox  and  Lord  North,  which  had  superseded  Lord 
Shelburne  in  the  spring,  was  now  fairly  brought  to  the 
bar  of  public  opinion.  Walpole,  who  had  offended  Fox's 
adherents  by  the  part  he  had  played  in  the  intrigues* 

"'  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Horace  about  this  time,  as  on 
former  occasions,  had  dreamed  of  seeing  Conway  in  the  position  of 


2o3  The  Rivals. 

which  followed  on  the  death  of  Lord  Rockingham, 
sought  to  retrieve  his  character  by  an  eager  support  of 
the  new  Administration.  He  was  loud  in  his  praises  of 
Fox's  masterly  eloquence  and  strong  sense.  He  now 
disparages  Fox's  chief  opponent.  "  His  competitor, 
Mr.  Pitt,"  says  Horace,  "  appears  by  no  means  an 
adequate  rival.  Just  hke  their  fathers,  Mr.  Pitt  has 
brilliant  language,  Mr,  Fox  solid  sense ;  and  such 
luminous  powers  of  displaj'ing  it  clearly,  that  mere 
Eloquence  is  but  a  Bristol  stone,  when  set  by  the 
diamond  Reason."  The  country  at  this  moment  was 
agitated  by  the  debates  on  Fox's  celebrated  India  Bill. 
This  measure  was  being  carried  by  triumphant  majori- 
ties through  the  Lower  House,  and,  as  Walpole  thought, 
the  Opposition  did  not  expect  to  succeed  even  in  the 
House  of  Lords.  He  goes  so  far  as  to  add,  "  Mr.  Pitt's 
reputation  is  much  sunk  ;  nor,  though  he  is  a  much 
more  correct  logician  than  his  father,  has  he  the  same 
firmness  and  perseverance.  It  is  no  wonder  that  he 
was  dazzled  by  his  own  premature  fame  ;  yet  his  late 
checks  may  be  of  use  to  him,  and  teach  him  to  appre- 
ciate his  strength  better,  or  to  wait  till  it  is  confirmed. 
Had  he  listed  under  Mr.  Fox,  who  loved  and  courted 

Prime  Minister.  The  General  had  taken  a  prominent  part  in 
the  last  attacks  upon  Lord  North,  and  when  the  latter  gave 
place  to  Lord  Rockingham's  second  Administration,  the  services 
of  the  former  were  requited  by  the  office  of  Commander-in- 
Chief,  with  a  seat  in  the  Cabinet.  But  Walpole's  illusicn  about  his 
friend  was  finally  dispelled  when,  in  the  search  for  a  leader  which 
went  on  during  and  after  Lord  Rockingham's  last  illness,  it  ap- 
peared that  Conway's  name  occurred  to  no  one  but  himself. — See 
Walpole  to  Maso?i,  May  7,  1SS2,  and  to  Mann,  July  i,  17S2. 


Political  Excitement.  2O9 

him,  he  would  not  only  have  discovered  modesty,  but 
have  been  more  likely  to  succeed  him,  than  by  com- 
mencing his  competitor."  This  was  written  on  the  5th 
of  December,  1783.  Ten  days  later  the  India  Bill  was 
defeated  in  the  House  of  Lords  ;  the  King  at  once  dis- 
missed the  Coalition  ;  and  before  the  end  of  the  year 
Pitt  was  installed  as  head  of  the  Government,  a  posi- 
tion which  he  retained  for  the  rest  of  Walpole's  life. 
The  struggle  which  the  new  Ministry  had  to  maintain 
for  several  weeks  against  an  adverse  majority  in  the 
House  of  Commons  is  matter  of  familiar  history  which 
needs  not  here  be  dwelt  upon. 

The  intense  excitement  which  these  events  created 
throughout  the  country  is  faithfully  reflected  in  Wal- 
pole's correspondence.  We  find  them  producing  a 
rupture  between  him  and  his  correspondent  of  many 
years'  standing,  the  poet  Mason,  which  was  not  healed 
till  shortly  before  the  deaths  of  the  parties.  And 
in  writing  to  Mann,  Walpole  several  times  refers  to 
the  general  ferment.  Thus  he  says:  "Politics  have 
engrossed  all  conversation,  and  stifled  other  events, 
if  any  have  happened.  Indeed  our  ladies,  who  used 
to  contribute  to  enliven  correspondence,  are  become 
politicians,  and,  as  Lady  Townley  says,  '  squeeze  a 
little  too  much  lemon  into  conversation.'  They  have 
been  called  back  a  little  to  their  own  profession — dress, 
by  a  magnificent  ball  which  the  Prince  of  Wales  gave 
two  nights  ago  to  near  six  hundred  persons,  to  which 
the  Amazons  of  both  parties  were  invited  ;  and  not  a 
scratch  was  given  or  received."     Again,  in  announcing 

14 


2IO  The  Elections. 

the  dissolution  of  Parliament :  "  All  the  island  will  be 
a  scene  of  riot,  and  probably  of  violence.     The  parties 
are  not  separated  in  gentle  mood  :  there  will,  they  say, 
be  contested  elections  everywhere  :  consequently  vast 
expense   and   animosities.  .  .        We   have   no  private 
news  at  all.     Indeed,  politics  are  all  in  all.     I  question 
whether    any  woman    will    have    anything  to   do  with 
a   man  of  a  different  party.     Little   girls  say,   '  Pray, 
Miss,    of  which  side   are  you  ?'    I   heard    of  one  that 
said,    '  Mama    and    I    cannot   get    Papa   over   to    our 
side !'  .  .      To  the  present  drama,  Elections,  I  shall 
totally   shut   my  ears.     I  hated   elections   forty  years 
ago ;   and,  when  I  went  to  White's,  preferred  a  con- 
versation on  Newmarket  to  one  on  elections :   for  the 
language  of  the   former   I    did   not   understand,   and, 
consequently,  did  not  listen  to  ;  the  other,  being  uttered 
in  common  phrase,  made  me  attend,  whether  I  would 
or  not.     When  such  subjects  are  on  the  tapis,  they 
make  me  a  very  insipid  correspondent.     One  cannot 
talk  of  what  one  does  not  care  about ;  and  it  would  be 
jargon  to  you,  if  I  did  :  however,  do  not  imagine  but  I 
allow  a  sufficient  quantity  of  dulness  to  my  time  of  life. 
I  have  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  5-ou  with  tolerable 
spirit  for  three-and-forty  years  together,  without    our 
once  meeting.     Can  you  vronder  that  my  pen  is  worn 
to  the  stump  ?     You  see  it  does  not  abandon  3'ou  ;  nor, 
though  conscious  of  its  own  decay,  endeavour  to  veil  it 
by  silence.     The  Archbishop  of  Gil  Bias  has  long  been 
a  lesson  to  me  to  watch  over  my  own  ruins ;  but  I  do 
not  extend  that  jealousy  of  vanity  to  com.merce  with 


The  Elections.  211 

an  old  friend.  You  knew  me  in  my  days  of  folly 
and  riotous  spirit ;  why  should  I  hide  my  dotage  from 
you,  which  is  not  equally  my  fault  and  reproach  ? 

In  the  middle  of  the  elections,  Horace  writes  once 
more : 

*'  The  scene  is  wofully  changed  for  the  Opposition, 
though  not  half  the  new  Parliament  is  yet  chosen. 
Though  they  still  contest  a  very  few  counties  and  some 
boroughs,  they  own  themselves  totally  defeated.  They 
reckoned  themselves  sure  of  two  hundred  and  forty 
members  ;  they  probably  will  not  have  an  hundred  and 
fifty  ;  and,  amongst  them,  not  some  capital  leaders, — 
perhaps  not  the  Commander-in-Chief,  Mr.  Fox,  cer- 
tainly not  the  late  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army, 
General  Conway.  In  short,  between  the  industry  of 
the  Court  and  the  India  Company,  and  that  momentary 
frenzy  that  sometimes  seizes  a  whole  nation,  as  if  it 
were  a  vast  animal,  such  aversion  to  the  Coalition  and 
such  a  detestation  of  Mr.  Fox  have  seized  the  country, 
that,  even  where  omnipotent  gold  retains  its  influence, 
the  elected  pass  through  an  ordeal  of  the  most  virulent 
abuse.  The  great  Whig  families,  the  Cavendishes, 
Rockinghams,  Bedfords,  have  lost  all  credit  in  their 
own  counties ;  nay,  have  been  tricked  out  of  seats 
where  the  whole  property  was  their  own  ;  and  in  some 
of  those  cases  a  royal  finger  has  too  evidently  tampered", 
as  well  as  singularly  and  revengefully  towards  Lord 
North  and  Lord  Hertford  ;  the  latter  of  whom,  how- 

14—2 


2  1  2  The   Westminster  Election. 

ever,  is  likely  to  have  six  of  his  own  sons*  in  the  House 
of  Commons — an  extraordinary  instance.  Such  a  pro- 
scription, however,  must  have  sown  so  deep  resentment 
as  it  was  not  wise  to  provoke  ;  considering  that  perma- 
nent fortune  is  a  jewel  that  in  no  crown  is  the  most  to 
be  depended  upon  ! 

"  When  I  have  told  you  these  certain  truths,  and 
when  you  must  be  aware  that  this  torrent  of  unpopu- 
larity broke  out  in  the  capital,  will  it  not  sound  like  a 
contradiction  if  I  affirm  that  Mr.  Fox  himself  is  still 
struggling  to  be  chosen  for  Westminster,  and  maintains 
so  sturdy  a  fight,  that  Sir  Cecil  Wray,  his  antagonist,  is 
not  yet  three  hundred  ahead  of  him,  though  the  Court 
exerts  itself  against  him  in  the  most  violent  manner,  by 
mandates,  arts,  etc. — nay,  sent  at  once  a  body  of  two 
hundred  and  eighty  of  the  Guards  to  give  their  votes  as 
householders,  which  is  legal,  but  which  my  father  in  the 
most  quiet  seasons  would  not  have  dared  to  do  !  At 
first,  the  contest  threatened  to  be  bloody  :  Lord  Hoodt 
being  the  third  candidate,  and  on  the  side  of  the  Court, 
a  mob  of  three  hundred  sailors  undertook  to  drive  away 
the  opponents;  but  the  Irish  chairmen, J  being  retained 
by  Mr.  Fox's  party,  drove  them  back  to  their  element, 
and  cured  the  tars  of  their  ambition  of  a  naval  victor}'. 
In  truth,  Mr.  Fox  has  all  the  popularity  in  Westminster  ; 
and,  indeed,  is  so  amiable  and  winning,  that,  could  he 
have  stood  in  person  all  over  England,  I  question 
whether  he  would  not  have   carried   the    Parliament. 

■*  He  did  get  but  five  of  his  sons  into  that  Parliament.— Walpole, 

T  Lord  Hood  was  an  admiral. 

i'  Almost  all  the  hackney-chairmen  in  London  were  Irish. 


The   Westminstey  Election.  2 ;  3 

The  beldams  hate  him  ;  but  most  of  the  pretty  women 
in  London  are  indefatigable  in  making  interest  for  him, 
the  Duchess  of  Devonshire  in  particular,*  I  am  ashamed 
to  say  how  coarsely  she  has  been  received  by  some 
worse  than  tars  !  But  me  nothing  has  shocked  so  much 
as  what  I  heard  this  morning  :  at  Dover  they  roasted  a 
poor  fox  alive  by  the  most  diabolic  allegory ! — a  savage 
meanness  that  an  Iroquois  would  not  have  committed. 
Base,  cowardly  v/retches  !  how  much  nobler  to  have 
hurried  to  London  and  torn  Mr.  Fox  himself  piece- 
meal !  I  detest  a  country  inhabited  by  such  stupid 
barbarians.  I  will  write  no  more  to-night;  I  am 'in  a 
passion !" 

A  fortnight  later  he  adds : 

"  Most  elections  are  over  ;  and,  if  they  were  not, 
neither  you  nor  I  care  about  such  details.  I  have  no 
notion  of  filling  one's  head  with  circumstances  of 
which,  in  six  weeks,  one  is  to  discharge  it  for  ever. 
Indeed,  it  is  well  that  I  live  little  in  the  world,  or  I 
should  be  obliged  to  provide  myself  with  that  viaticum 
for  common  conversation.  Our  ladies  are  grown  such 
vehement  politicians,  that  no  other  topic  is  admissible ; 
nay,  I  do  not  know  whether  you  must  not  learn  our 
politics  for  the  conversationi  at  Florence, — at  least,  if 
Paris  gives  the  ton  to  Italy,  as  it  used  to  do.     There  are 

*  "The  fact  of  the  Duchess  having  purchased  the  vote  of  a  stub- 
born butcher  by  a  kiss,  is,  we  beheve,  undoubted.  It  was  probably 
during  the  occurrence  of  these  scenes  that  the  well-known  compli- 
ment was  paid  to  her  by  an  Irish  mechanic  :  '  I  could  light  my  pipe 
at  her  eyes.'  "Jesse's  "  Selwyn,"  vol.  iv.,  p.  1 18. 


2  r  4  Political  Cai'icatures. 

as  warm  parties  for  Mr.  Fox  or  Mr.  Pitt  at  Versailles 
and  Amsterdam  as  in  Westminster.  At  the  first,  I 
suppose,  they  exhale  in  epigrams  ;  are  expressed  at  the 
second  by  case-knives  ;  at  the  last  they  vent  themselves 
in  deluges  of  satiric  prints,^  though  with  no  more  wit 
than  there  is  in  a  case-knife.  I  was  told  last  night 
that  our  engraved  pasquinades  for  this  winter,  at 
twelvepence  or  sixpence  a-piece,  would  cost  six  or 
seven  pounds." 

In  the  result,  Fox  was  returned,  but  Conway  lost  his 
seat.  Walpole  congratulates  the  latter  on  his  retire- 
ment from  public  life  : 

"Berkeley  Square,  Wednesday,  May  5,  1784. 

"Your  cherries,  for  aught  I  know,  may,  like  Mr. 
Pitt,  be  half  ripe  before  others  are  in  blossom ;  but  at 
Twickenham,  I  am  sure,  I  could  find  dates  and  pome- 
granates on  the  quickset  hedges,  as  soon  as  a  cherry  in 
swaddling-clothes  on  my  walls.  The  very  leaves  on  the 
horse-chesnuts  are  little  things,  that  cry  and  are 
afraid  of  the  north  wind,  and  cling  to  the  bough 
as  if  old  poker  was  coming  to  take  them  away.  For  my 
part,  I  have  seen  nothing  like  spring  but  a  chimney- 

*  "  Fox  said  that  Sayers's  caricatures  had  done  him  more  mischief 
tlian  the  debates  in  Parliament,  or  the  works  of  the  press.  The 
prints  of  Carlo  Khan,  Fox  running  away  with  the  India  House,  Fox 
and  Burke  quitting  Paradise  when  turned  out  of  office,  and  many 
others  of  these  publications,  had  certainly  a  vast  effect  on  the  public 
mind." — Lord  Chancellor  Eldoji,  "  Life  of  Twiss,"  vol.  i.,  p.  162. 
This  very  apt  quotation  is  made  by  I^Ir.  P.  Cunningham  in  his 
valuable  edition  of  Walpole's  Letters, 


Conzvays  Retirement,  213 

sweeper's  garland ;  and  yet  I  have  been  three  daj-s  in 
the  country — and  the  consequence  was,  that  I  was  glad 
to  come  back  to  town. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  feel  differently  ;  anything 
is  warmth  and  verdure  when  compared  to  poring  over 
memorials.  In  truth,  I  think  you  will  be  much  happier 
for  being  out  of  Parliament.  You  could  do  no  good 
there ;  you  have  no  views  of  ambition  to  satisfy ;  and 
when  neither  duty  nor  ambition  calls  (I  do  not  conde- 
scend to  name  avarice,  which  never  is  to  be  satisfied, 
nor  deserves  to  be  reasoned  with,  nor  has  any  place  in 
}'our  breast),  I  cannot  conceive  what  satisfaction  an 
elderly  man  can  have  in  listening  to  the  passions  or 
follies  of  others  :  nor  is  eloquence  such  a  banquet,  when 
one  knows  that,  whoever  the  cooks  are,  whatever  the 
sauces,  one  has  eaten  as  good  beef  or  mutton  before, 
and,  perhaps,  as  well  dressed.  It  is  surely  time  to  live 
for  one's  self,  when  one  has  not  a  vast  while  to  live  ; 
and  you,  I  am  persuaded,  will  live  the  longer  for  lead- 
ing a  country  life.  How  much  better  to  be  planting, 
nay,  making  experiments  on  smoke*  (if  not  too  dear), 
than  reading  applications  from  officers,  a  quarter  of 
whom  you  could  not  serve,  nor  content  three  quarters ! 
You  had  not  time  for  necessary  exercise  ;  and,  I  be- 
lieve, would  have  blinded  yourself.  In  short,  if  you 
will  live  in  the  air  all  day,  be  totally  idle,  and  not  read 
or  write  a  line  by  candle-light,  and  retrench  your  suppers, 
I  shall  rejoice  in  your  having  nothing  to  do  but  that 

*  Alluding  to  some  coke-ovens  for  which   Conway  obtained  a 
patent. 


2i6  Conway s  Retirement. 

dreadful  punishment,  pleasing  yourself.  Nobody  has 
any  claims  on  you  ;  you  have  satisfied  every  point  of 
honour  ;  you  have  no  cause  for  being  particularly  grate- 
ful to  the  Opposition  ;  and  you  want  no  excuse  for 
living  for  yourself.  Your  resolutions  on  economy  are 
not  only  prudent,  but  just;  and,  to  say  the  truth,  I 
believe  that  if  you  had  continued  at  the  head  of  the 
Army,  you  would  have  ruined  yourself.  You  have  too 
much  generosity  to  have  curbed  yourself,  and  would 
have  had  too  little  time  to  attend  to  doing  so.  I  know 
by  myself  how  pleasant  it  is  to  have  laid  up  a  little 
for  those  I  love,  for  those  that  depend  on  me,  and  for 
old  servants.  .  .  . 

"  You  seem  to  think  that  I  might  send  you  more 
news.  So  I  might,  if  I  would  talk  of  elections  ;  but 
those,  you  know,  I  hate,  as,  in  general,  I  do  all  details. 
How  Mr.  Fox  has  recovered  such  a  majority  I  do  not 
guess  i  still  less  do  I  comprehend  how  there  could  be  so 
many  that  had  not  voted,  after  the  poll  had  lasted  so 
long.*  Indeed,  I  should  be  sorry  to  understand  such 
mysteries.  .  ,  . 

"  P.S.  The  summer  is  come  to  town,  but  I  hope  is 
gone  into  the  country  too." 

*  Mr.  Pitt  says,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Wilberforce,  onthe  Sth  of  April, 
"  Westminster  goes  on  well,  in  spite  of  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire 
and  the  other  women  of  the  people  ;  but  when  the  poll  will  close  is 
uncertain."  At  the  close  of  it,  on  the  17th  of  May,  the  numbers 
were,  for  Hood,  6,694  ;  Fox,  6,223  ;  Wray,  5,998.  Walpole,  whose 
delic.'Ue  health  at  this  time  confined  him  almost  entirely  to  his 
house,  went  in  a  sedan-chair  to  give  his  vote  for  Mr.  Fox. 


Lady  Hai^rington.  217 

The  new  Parliament  having  met,  and  disclosed  a 
majority  of  more  than  two  to  one  in  favour  of  the 
Government,  Walpole  dismisses  politics  and  returns  to 
lighter  topics.     He  writes  to  Conway  : 

"  Strawberry  Hill,  June  30,  1784. 

*'  Instead  of  coming  to  you,  I  am  thinking  of  packing 
up  and  going  to  town  for  winter,  so  desperate  is  the 
weather!  I  found  a  great  fire  at  Mrs.  Clive's  this 
evening,  and  Mr.  Raftor  hanging  over  it  like  a  smoked 
ham.  They  tell  me  my  hay  vvill  be  all  spoiled  for  want 
of  cutting ;  but  I  had  rather  it  should  be  destroyed  by 
standing  than  by  being  mowed,  as  the  former  will  cost 
me  nothing  but  the  crop,  and  'tis  very  dear  to  make 
nothing  but  a  water-souchy  of  it. 

"  You  know  I  have  lost  a  niece,  and  found  another 
nephew:  he  makes  the  fifty-fourth,  reckoning  both 
sexes.  We  are  certainly  an  affectionate  famil}^,  for  of 
late  we  do  nothing  but  marry  one  another.  Have  not 
YOU  felt  a  little  twinge  in  a  remote  corner  of  your  heart 
on  Lady  Harrington's  death  ?*  She  dreaded  death  so 
extremely  that  I  am  glad  she  had  not  a  moment  to  be 
sensible  of  it.  I  have  a  great  affection  for  sudden 
deaths  ;  they  save  one's  self  and  everybody  else  a  deal  oi 
ceremony. 

**  The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Marlborough  breakfasted 
here  on  Monday,  and  seemed  much  pleased,  though  it 

*  The  Lady  Caroline  Petersham  of  the  frolic  at  Vauxhall,  related 
in  a  former  chapter.  Conway  in  his  youth  had  been  enamoured  of 
her. 


2 1 8  Balloons. 

rained  the  whole  time  with  an  Egyptian  darkness.  I 
should  have  thought  there  had  been  deluges  enough  to 
destroy  all  Egypt's  other  plagues :  but  the  newspapers 
talk  of  locusts ;  I  suppose  relations  of  your  beetles, 
though  probably  not  so  fond  of  green  fruit ;  for  the 
scene  of  their  campaign  is  Queen  Square,  Westminster, 
where  there  certainly  has  not  been  an  orchard  since  the 
reign  of  Canute. 

*'  I  have,  at  last,  seen  an  air-balloon  ;  just  as  I  once 
did  see  a  tiny  review,  by  passing  one  accidentally  on 
Hounslow  Heath.  I  was  going  last  night  to  Lady 
Onslow  at  Richmond,  and  over  Mr.  Cambridge's  field  I 
saw  a  bundle  in  the  air  not  bigger  than  the  moon,  and 
she  herself  could  not  have  descended  with  more  com- 
posure if  she  had  expected  to  find  Endymion  fast 
asleep.  It  seemed  to  'light  on  Richmond  Hill ;  but 
j\Irs.  Hobart  was  going  by,  and  her  coiffure  prevented 
my  seeing  it  alight.  The  papers  say,  that  a  balloon  has 
been  made  at  Paris  representing  the  castle  of  Stock- 
holm, in  compliment  to  the  King  of  Sweden  ;  but  that 
they  are  afraid  to  let  it  off:  so,  I  suppose,  it  will  be 
served  up  to  him  in  a  dessert.  No  great  progress, 
surely,  is  made  in  these  airy  navigations,  if  they  are 
still  afraid  of  risking  the  necks  of  two  or  three  subjects 
for  the  entertainment  of  a  visiting  sovereign.  There  is 
seldom  2ufen  de  joie  for  the  birth  of  a  Dauphin  that  does 
not  cost  more  lives.  I  thought  royalty  and  science 
never  haggled  about  the  value  of  blood  when  experi- 
ments are  in  the  question. 

"  I  shall  wait  for  summer  before  I  make  you  a  visit. 


Illness.  219 

Thouj^h  I  dare  to  say  that  you  have  converted  your 
smoke-kilns  into  a  manufactory  of  balloons,  pray  do 
not  erect  a  Strawberry  castle  in  the  air  for  my  recep- 
tion, if  it  will  cost  a  pismire  a  hair  of  its  head.  Good- 
night !  I  have  ordered  my  bed  to  be  heated  as  hot  as 
an  oven,  and  Tonton  and  I  must  go  into  it." 

The  recent  invention  of  balloons  was  at  this  time 
exciting  general  interest.  "  This  enormous  capital," 
sa3^s  Walpole,  **  that  must  have  some  occupation,  is 
most  innocently  amused  with  those  philosophic  play- 
things, air-balloons.  An  Italian,  one  Lunardi,  is  the 
first  airgonaiit  that  has  mounted  into  the  clouds  in  this 
country.  He  is  said  to  have  bought  three  or  four  thou- 
sand pounds  in  the  stocks,  by  exhibiting  his  person,  his 
balloon,  and  his  dog  and  cat,  at  the  Pantheon  for  a 
shilling  each  visitor.  Blanchard,  a  Frenchman,  is  his 
rival ;  and  I  expect  that  they  will  soon  have  an  air-fight 
in  the  clouds,  like  a  stork  and  a  kite." 

This  year  ended  for  our  author  with  a  severe  attack 
of  gout.     He  replies  to  inquiries  from  Lady  Ossory  : 

"Berkeley  Square,  Dec.  27,  17S4. 
"  I  am  told  that  I  am  in  a  prodigious  fine  way  ; 
which,  being  translated  into  plain  English,  means  that 
I  have  suffered  more  sharp  pain  these  two  da5's  than  in 
all  the  moderate  fits  together  that  I  have  had  for  these 
last  nine  years  :  however.  Madam,  I  have  one  great 
blessing,  there  is  drowsiness  in  all  the  square  hollows  of 
the  red-hot  bars  of  the  gridiron  on  which  I  lie,  so  that 
I  scream  and  fall  asleep  by  turns,  like  a  babe  that  is 


2  20  Recovery. 

cutting  its  first  teeth.  1  can  add  nothing  to  this  exact 
account,  which  I  only  send  in  obedience  to  your  Lady- 
ship's commands,  which  I  received  just  now :  I  did 
think  on  Saturday  that  the  worst  was  over." 

On  his  recovery,  he  writes  : 

**  I  am  always  thanking  you,  ^ladam,  I  think,  for 
kind  inquiries  after  me ;  but  it  is  not  my  fault  that  I  am 
so  often  troublesome!  I  would  it  were  otherwise!  — 
however,  I  do  not  complain.  I  have  attained  another 
resurrection,  and  was  so  glad  of  my  liberty,  that  I  went 
out  both  Saturday  and  Sunday,  though  so  snowy  a  day 
and  so  rainy  a  da}^  never  were  invented.  Yet  I  have 
not  ventured  to  see  Mrs.  Jordan,*  nor  to  skate  in  Hyde 
Park.  We  had  other  guess  winters  in  my  time  ! — fine 
sunny  mornings,  with  now  and  then  a  mild  earthquake, 
just  enough  to  wake  one,  and  rock  one  to  sleep  again 
comfortably.  Wy  recoveries  surprise  me  more  than  my 
fits  ;  but  I  am  quite  persuaded  now  that  I  know  exactly 
how  I  shall  end  :  as  I  am  a  statue  of  chalk,  I  shall 
crumble  to  powder,  and  then  my  inside  will  be  blown 
away  from  my  terrace,  and  hoary-headed  ^largaret  will 
tell  the  people  that  come  to  see  my  house, — 

'One  morn  we  miss'd  him  on  the  'custom'd  hill.' 

When  that  is  the  case.  Madam,  don't  take  the  pains 
of  inquiring  more ;  as  I  shall  leave  no  hody  to  return 
to,  even  Cagliostro  would  bring  me  back  to  no  pur- 
pose." 

*  At  this  time  commencing:  her  career  as  an  actress. 


Lady  Correspondents.  221 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Lady  Correspondents. — Madame  de  Genlis. — Miss  Burney  and 
Hannah  More. — Deaths  of  Mrs.  Clive  and  Sir  Horace  Mann. — 
Story  of  Madame  de  Choiseul. — Richmond. — Oueensberry  House. 
— Warren  Hastings. — Genteel  Comedy.— St.  Swithin. — Riverside 
Conceits. — Lord  North. — The  Theatre  again. — Gibbon's  History. 
— Sheridan.  —  Conway's  Comedy. — A  Turkish  War. — Society 
Newspapers.  —  The  Misses  Berry.  —  Bonner's  Ghost.  —  The 
Arabian  Nights. — King's  College  Chapel. — Richmond  Society. — 
New  Arrivals. — The  Berrys  visit  Italy. — A  Farewell  Letter. 

No  one  who  has  looked  through  Walpole's  published 
letters  can  have  failed  to  observe  that  the  great  majority 
of  those  which  belong  to  the  last  twelve  or  thirteen 
years  of  the  writer's  life  are  addressed  to  female  cor- 
respondents. This  is  not  an  accidental  circumstance. 
It  is  clear  that,  as  his  old  friends  dropped  off,  Horace 
supplied  their  places,  in  almost  every  instance,  with 
women.  The  antiquary  Pinkerton  succeeds  to  the 
antiquary  Cole,*  but  Montagu  and  Mason,  Sir  Horace 
Mann-f-  and  Lord  Strafford,  J  had  no  successors  of  their 
own  sex.  Except  when  literary  topics  were  on  the 
carpet,   Walpole,   in  his  latter  days,  shrank  from  en- 

*  Cole  died  i6th  December,  17S2. 

t  See  page  226. 

X  Lord  Strafford  died  loth  March,  1791. 


.222  Madame  de  Gen  lis. 

gaging  in  discussion  with  younger  and  more  vigorous 
men.  In  several  passages  of  his  correspondence,  he 
acknowledges  this  feeling  of  reserve  and  shyness.  But 
with  ladies  of  every  class  he  was  always  at  home  and  at 
ease.  Old  or  j-oung,  grave  or  gay,  English  or  French, 
they  found  him  their  devoted  servant,  full  of  nicely 
adjusted  gallantry,  never  too  busy  to  entertain  with 
gossip  and  letters,  ever  ready  to  assist  with  advice,  and 
when  occasion  required,  with  the  contents  of  a  well- 
stocked  purse.  Thus,  from  the  year  1785  onwards,  we 
have  him  generally  in  correspondence  with  ladies,  and 
as  often  as  not,  about  ladies.  During  the  first  part  of 
this  period  especially,  sketches  of  well-known  women 
meet  us,  thrown  off  at  frequent  intervals  by  his  prac- 
tised pen.  Here  is  an  account  of  a  visit  from  Madame 
de  Genlis  in  July,  1785  : 

"  You  surprise  me,  ^ladam,  by  saying  the  newspapers 
mention  my  disappointment  of  seeing  Madame  de 
Genlis.  How  can  such  arrant  trifles  spread?  It  is 
ver}^  true,  that  as  the  hill  would  not  go  to  see  Madame 
de  Genlis,  she  has  come  to  see  the  hill.  Ten  days  ago 
Mrs.  Cosway  sent  me  a  note  that  Madame  desired  a 
ticket  for  Strawberry  Hill.  I  thought  I  could  not  do 
less  than  offer  her  a  breakfast,  and  named  yesterday 
se'nnight.  Then  came  a  message  that  she  must  go  to 
Oxford  and  take  her  Doctor's  degree  ;  and  then  another, 
that  I  should  see  her  yesterday,  when  she  did  arrive 
with  Miss  Wilkes  and  Pamela,  whom  she  did  not  even 
present  to  me,  and  whom  she  has  educated  to  be  very 


Madame  de  Genlis.  223 

like  herself  in  the  face.  I  told  her  I  could  not  attribute 
the  honour  of  her  visit  but  to  my  late  dear  friend 
Madame  du  Deffand.  It  rained  the  whole  time,  and 
was  dark  as  midnight,  so  that  she  could  scarce  distin- 
guish a  picture  ;  but  you  will  want  an  account  of  her, 
and  not  of  what  she  saw  or  could  not  see.  Her  person 
is  agreeable,  and  she  seems  to  have  been  pretty.  Her 
conversation  is  natural  and  reasonable,  not  precieuse  and 
affected,  and  searching  to  be  eloquent,  as  I  had  ex- 
pected. I  asked  her  if  she  had  been  pleased  with 
Oxford,  meaning  the  buildings,  not  the  wretched  oafs 
that  inhabit  it.  She  said  she  had  had  little  time  ;  that 
she  had  wished  to  learn  their  plan  of  education,  which, 
as  she  said  sensibly,  she  supposed  was  adapted  to  our 
Constitution.  I  could  have  told  her  that  it  is  directly 
repugnant  to  our  Constitution,  and  that  nothing  is 
taught  there  but  drunkenness  and  prerogative,  or,  in 
their  language,  Church  and  King.  I  asked  if  it  is  true 
that  the  new  edition  of  Voltaire's  works  is  prohibited  : 
she  replied,  severe^, — and  then  condemned  those  who 
write  against  religion  and  government,  which  was  a 
little  unlucky  before  her  friend  Miss  Wilkes.  She  stayed 
two  hours,  and  returns  to  France  to-day  to  her  duty.  I 
really  do  not  know  whether  the  Due  de  Chartres  is  in 
England  or  not.  She  did  lodge  in  his  house  in  Port- 
land Place  ;  but  at  Paris,  I  think,  has  an  hotel  where 
she  educates  his  daughters." 

A   little    later,    he   reports :    "  Dr.    Burney   and   his 
daughter,    Evelina-Cecilia,    have  passed  a  day  and  a 


2  24        Miss  Blimey  and  Hannah  More. 

half  with  me.*  He  is  hvely  and  agreeable ;  she  half- 
and-half  sense  and  modesty,  which  possess  her  so 
entirely,  that  not  a  cranny  is  left  for  affectation  or 
pretension.  Oh  !  Mrs.  Montagu,  you  are  not  above 
half  as  accomplished."  This  was  an  unusual  tribute 
from  the  fastidious  Horace. 

Here,  too,  we  must  introduce  the  name  of  another 
literary  lady,  whose  acquaintance  with  our  author, 
begun  some  time  previously,  ripened  about  this  date 
into  an  occasional  exchange  of  letters.  Hannah  lMore,t 
then  one  of  the  Vesey  coterie  in  Clarges  Street,  which, 
however,  she  presently  quitted,  ranked,  we  conceive,  in 
Walpole's  estimation,  about  midway  between  Mrs. 
Montagu  and  Miss  Burney.  ^^''riting  to  Hannah,  not 
long  after  her  retirement  from  London,  he  says  :  "  The 
last  time  I  saw  her,"  that  is  Mrs.  Vesey,  ''  Miss  Burney 
passed  the  evening  there,  looking  quite  recovered  and 

*  Very  shortly  after  this  visit,  Miss  Burney  was  appointed  one  o 
the  Keepers  of  the  Queen's  Robes  in  the  room  of  Madame  Hagger- 
dorn,  who  retired. 

t  Born  in  1745,  at  Stapleton,  near  Bristol,  where  her  father 
had  the  care  of  the  Charity  School.  Early  in  life,  she  joined 
her  sisters  in  establishing  a  school  for  young  ladies,  which  had 
great  success.  In  1773  she  published  a  pastoral  drama,  called 
"The  Search  after  Happiness,"  and  in  1774  a  tragedy  founded 
on  the  story  of  Regulus.  These  works  led  to  her  introduction 
into  London  society.  Her  tragedy  "  Percy "  was  produced  at 
Covent  Garden  on  the  loth  of  December,  1777,  and  ran  nineteen 
nights.  About  this  time  also  she  wrote  "  The  Fatal  P^alsehood," 
and  "  Sacred  Dramas."  In  1786,  when  she  was  forty  years  of  age, 
she  withdrew  from  London,  and  settled  at  Cowslip  (jreen,  near 
her  native  place,  in  which  district  she  spent  the  remainder  of  her 
life,  devoting  herself  to  works  of  charily,  and  the  composition  of 
relicrious  books. 


Death  of  Mrs.  Clive.  225 

well,  and  so  cheerful  and  agreeable,  that  the  Court 
seems  only  to  have  improved  the  ease  of  her  manner, 
instead  of  stamping  more  reserve  on  it,  as  I  feared  : 
but  what  slight  graces  it  can  give,  will  not  compensate 
to  us  and  the  world  for  the  loss  of  her  company  and 
her  writings.  Not  but  that  ^omc  young  ladies  who  can 
write,  can  stifle  their  talent  as  much  as  if  they  were 
under  lock  and  key  in  the  royal  library.  I  do  not  see 
but  a  cottage  is  as  pernicious  to  genius  as  the  Queen's 
waiting-room." 

Walpole  had  laughed  at  the  "  Blue-stockings,"  but 
he  bows  graciously  to  the  authors  of  "  Cecilia  "  and 
"  Percy,"  and  marks  by  an  altered  style  of  address  his 
sense  of  the  difference  between  the  tone  of  these  ladies 
and  that  of  the  Lady  Ossorys  and  Kitty  Clives  with 
whom  his  youth  and  middle  life  had  been  spent.  Poor 
Kitty's  old  age  of  cards  came  to  an  end  before  the  close 
of  1785,  and  Cliveden,  which  she  had  occupied  for  more 
than  thirty  years,  stood  for  awhile  untenanted.  Horace 
lamented  the  loss  of  his  old  friend  and  neighbour,  but 
she  was  several  years  senior  to  himself,  and  her  death 
was  not  unexpected.  The  pair  had  lived  so  much 
together  that  probably  few  letters  passed  between 
them  :  none  have  been  preserved,  and  the  removal  of 
the  lady  makes  no  gap  in  the  gentleman's  correspon- 
dence. It  is  otherwise  with  the  next  name  which  was 
struck  from  Walpole's  list  of  old  familiar  acquaintances. 
Shortly  after  losing  a  friend  from  whom  he  was  never 
long  parted,  he  lost  the  friend  whom  he  never  met. 
No  long  time  had  elapsed  since  Walpole  had  written  to 

15 


2  26  Death  of  Sir  Horace  UTanit. 

]\Iann  :  "  Shall  we  not  be  very  venerable  in  the  annals 
of  friendship  ?  What  Orestes  and  Pylades  ever  wrote 
to  each  other  for  four-and-forty  years  without  meeting  ? 
A  correspondence  of  near  half  a  century  is  not  to  be 
paralleled  in  the  annals  of  the  Post  Office."  Again, 
about  the  time  of  Mrs.  Olive's  death:  ''Now  I  think 
we  are  like  Castor  and  Pollux  ;  when  one  rises,  t'other 
sets  ;  when  you  can  write,  I  cannot.     I  have  got  a  very 

sharp  attack  of  gout  in  my  right  hand Your 

being  so  well  is  a  great  comfort  to  me."  Despite  this 
congratulation,  however,  the  Ambassador  was  very  near 
to  his  final  setting.  He  died  at  Florence  on  the  i5th 
of  November,  17S6,  after  a  long  illness,  during  the 
latter  part  of  v^^hich  he  was  apparently  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  receive  letters.  Walpole's  last  letter  to  him 
is  dated  June  22,  1786.  It  makes  the  eight  hundred 
and  ninth  in  the  collection,  as  printed,  of  Walpole's 
part  of  the  correspondence  between  them. 

But  we  must  not  suppose  that  Lady  Ossory's  gazetteer 
is  all  this  time  forgetful  of  his  Countess.  Here  is  an 
anecdote  which  he  sends  her  in  the  early  part  of  1786  : 

'•'  How  do  you  like,  I^Iadam,  the  following  story  ?  A 
3'oung  Madame  de  Choiseul  is  inloved  with  by  Monsieur 
de  Coigny  and  Prince  Joseph  of  Monaco.  She  longed 
for  a  parrot  that  should  be  a  miracle  of  eloquence : 
every  other  shop  in  Paris  sells  mackaws,  parrots, 
cockatoos,  &c.  No  wonder  one  at  least  of  the  rivals 
soon  found  a  Mr.  Pitt,  and  the  bird  was  immediately 
declared  the  nymph's  first  minister :  but  as  she  had 


Siory  of  Madame  de  Choiseid.  227 

two  passions  as  well  as  two  lovers,  she  was  also  en- 
amoured of  General  Jackoo  at  Astley's.  The  unsuc- 
cessful candidate  offered  Astley  ingots  for  his  monkey, 
but  Astley  demanding  a  tervc  for  life,  the  paladin  was 
forced  to  desist,  but  fortunately  heard  of  another 
miracle  of  parts  of  the  Monomotapan  race,  who  was 
not  in  so  exalted  a  sphere  of  life,  being  only  a  marmiton 
in  a  kitchen,  where  he  had  learnt  to  pluck  fowds  with 
an  inimitable  dexterity.  This  dear  animal  was  not 
invaluable,  was  bought,  and  presented  to  Madame  de 
Choiseul,  who  immediately  made  him  the  secretaire 
dc  scs  connnandemcns.  Her  caresses  were  distributed 
equally  to  the  animals,  and  her  thanks  to  the  donors. 
The  first  time  she  went  out,  the  two  former  were  locked 
up  in  her  bed-chamber.  Ah !  I  dread  to  tell  the 
sequel.  When  the  lady  returned  and  flew  to  her 
chamber,  Jackoo  the  second  received  her  with  all  the 
empressemait  possible — but  where  was  Poll  ? — found  at 
last  under  the  bed,  shivering  and  cowering — and  with- 
out a  feather,  as  stark  as  any  Christian.  Poll's 
presenter  concluded  that  his  rival  had  given  the  monkey 
with  that  very  view,  challenged  him,  they  fought,  and 
both  were  wounded ;  and  an  heroic  adventure  it  was  !" 

Mrs.  Clive  being  dead,  and  another  sister-in-loo, 
Lady  Browne,  whom  he  often  called  his  better-half, 
having  left  Twickenham,  Walpole,  when  at  Strawberry 
Plill,  began  to  look  across  the  water  for  society.  He 
was  attracted  to  Richmond  by  George  Selwyn,  who 
was  now  at  times  domesticated  there  with  the  Duke  of 

15—2 


2  23  Oncensbci'ry  House. 

Queensberry,  the  *'  Old  Q"  of  the    caricaturists.     In 
December,  1786,  Horace  writes  : 

"  I  went  yesterday  to  see  the  Duke  of  Queensberry's 
palace  at  Richmond,  under  the  conduct  of  George 
Selwyn,  the  concierge.  You  cannot  imagine  how  noble 
it  looks  now  all  the  Cornbury  pictures  from  Amesbury 
are  hung  up  there.  The  great  hall,  the  great  gallery, 
the  eating-room,  and  the  corridor,  are  covered  with 
whole  and  half-lengths  of  royal  family,  favourites, 
ministers,  peers,  and  judges,  of  the  reign  of  Charles  I. 
— not  one  an  original,  I  think,  at  least  not  one  fine, 
yet  altogether  they  look  very  respectable ;  and  the 
house  is  so  handsome,  and  the  views  so  rich,  and  the 
day  was  so  fine,  that  I  could  only  have  been  more 
pleased  if  (for  half  an  hour)  I  could  have  seen  the  real 
palace  that  once  stood  on  that  spot,  and  the  persons 
represented  walking  about  ! — A  visionary  holiday  in  old 
age,  though  it  has  not  the  rapture  of  youth,  is  a  sedate 
enjoyment  that  is  more  sensible  because  one  attends  to 
it  and  reflects  upon  it  at  the  time  ;  and  as  new  tumults 
do  not  succeed,  the  taste  remains  long  in  one's  memory's 
mouth." 

Walpole  was  late  this  year  in  removing  to  Berkeley 
Square.  The  political  topic  of  the  London  season  was 
the  debates  in  the  House  of  Commons  on  the  charges 
against  A\"arren  Hastings ;  the  social  topic,  in  our 
author's  circle  at  any  rate,  appears  to  have  been  some 
theatrical  performances  at  the  Duke  of  Richmond's 
house  in  Whitehall.     Horace  seems  to  have  interested 


IVarreii  Haslings.  729 

himself  a  good  deal  more  in  the  latter  subject  than  the 
former.  Lady  Ossory  having  urged  him  to  read  a 
pamphlet  in  favour  of  Mr.  Hastings,  he  replies  : 

**  The  pamphlet  I  have  read,  Madam ;  but  cannot 
tell  you  what  would  have  been  my  opinion  of  it, 
because  my  opinion  was  influenced  before  I  saw  it.  A 
lady-politician  ordered  me  to  read  it,  and  to  admire  it, 
as  the  chef-d'auvrc  of  truth,  eloquence,  wit,  argument, 
and  impartiality ;  and  she  assured  me  that  the  reason- 
ings in  it  were  unanswerable.  I  believe  she  meant  the 
assertions,  for  I  know  she  uses  those  words  as  synony- 
mous. I  promised  to  obey  her,  as  I  am  sure  that  ladies 
understand  politics  better  than  I  do,  and  I  hold  it  as  a 
rule  of  faith — 

"  Thnt  all  that  they  admire  is  sweet, 
And  all  is  sense  that  they  repeat. 

**  How  much  ready  wit  they  have  !  I  can  give  you  an 
instance,  Madam,  that  I  heard  last  night.  After  the 
late  execution  of  the  eighteen  malefactors,  a  female  was 
hawking  an  account  of  them,  but  called  them  nineteen. 
A  gentleman  said  to  her,  '  Why  do  you  say  nineteen  ? 
there  were  but  eighteen  hanged.'  She  replied,  *  Sir,  I 
did  not  knowj'o;^  had  been  reprieved.' " 

A  week  later,  he  writes  again : 

"Berkeley  Square,  Feb.  9,  1787. 

**  Though  I  sigh  for  your  Ladyship's  coming  to  town, 
I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  not  be  a  loser,  for  what 


2  0 


Warren  HaslinQS, 


news  don't  you  send  me  ?  That  Lord  Salisbury  is  a 
poet  is  nothing  to  your  intclh'gence  that  /  am  going  to 
turn  player ;  nay,  perhaps  I  should,  if  I  were  not  too 
young  for  the  company ! — You  tell  me,  too,  that  I  snub 
and  sneer ;  I  protest,  I  thought  I  was  the  snubee.  .  .  . 
"  For  sneering,  Heaven  help  m.e !  I  was'  guiltless. 
Every  day  I  meet  with  red-hot  politicians  in  petticoats, 
and  told  your  Ladyship  how  I  had  been  schooled  b}- 
one  of  them,  and  how  docile  I  was.  If  you  yourself 
have  any  zeal  for  making  converts,  I  should  be  very 
ready  to  be  a  proselyte,  if  I  could  get  anything  by  it. 
It  is  very  creditable,  honourable,  and  fashionable ;  but, 
alas !  I  am  so  insignificant  that  I  fear  nobody  would 
buy  me  ;  and  one  should  look  sillily  to  put  one's  self  up 
to  sale  and  not  find  a  purchaser. 

"  In  short,  I  doubt  I  shall  never  make  my  fortune  by 
turning  courtier  or  comedian ;  and  therefore  I  may  as 
well  adhere  to  my  old  pi'inciples,  as  I  have  always  done, 
since  you  yourself.  Madam,  would  not  be  flattered  in  a 
convert  that  nobody  would  take  off  your  hands.  If  you 
could  bring  over  Mr.  Sheridan,  he  would  do  somicthing  : 
he  talked  for  five  hours  and  a  half  en  Wednesday,  and 
turned  everybody's  head.  One  heard  everybody  in  the 
streets  raving  on  the  wonders  of  that  speech  ;  for  my 
part,  I  cannot  believe  it  was  so  supernatural  as  they 
say — do  you  believe  it  was,  Madam  ?  I  will  go  to  my 
oracle,  who  told  me  of  the  marvels  of  the  pamphlet, 
which  assures  us  that  Mr.  Hastings  is  a  prodigy  of 
virtue  and  abilities ;  and,  as  you  think  so  too,  how 
should  such  a  fellow  as  Sheridan,  who  has  no  diamonds 


JVamm  Hastings.  231 

to  bestow,  fascinate  all  the  world  ? — Yet  witchcraft,  no 
doubt,  there  has  been,  for  when  did  simple  eloquence 
ever  convince  a  majority  ?  Mr.  Pitt  and  174  other 
persons  found  Mr.  Hastings  guilty  last  night,*  and 
only  sixty-eight  remained  thinking  with  the  pamphlet 
and  your  Ladyship,  that  he  is  as  white  as  snow.  Well, 
at  least  there  is  a  new  crime,  sorcery,  to  charge  on  the 
Opposition  !  and,  till  they  are  cleared  of  that  charge,  I 
will  never  say  a  word  in  their  favour,  nor  think  on 
politics  more,  which  I  would  not  have  mentioned  but  in 
answer  to  your  Ladyship's  questions  ;  and  therefore 
I  hope  we  shall  drop  the  subject,  and  meet  soon 
in  Grosvendr  Place  in  a  perfect  neutrality  of  good 
humour." 

His  remarks  on  the  Duke's  Theatre  are  contained  in 
the  following  letter,  written  after  his  early  return  to 
Twickenham. 

"Strawberry  Hill,  June  14,  1787. 

"  Though  your  Ladyship  gave  me  lavo  (a  very  proper 
synonyme  for  delay),  I  should  have  answered  your 
letter  incontinently,  but  I  have  had  what  is  called  a 
blight  in  one  of  my  e5''es,  and  for  some  days  was  forced 
to  lie  fallow,  neither  reading  nor  writing  a  line  ;  which 
is  a  little  uncomfortable  when  quite  alone.  I  do  begin 
to  creep  about  my  house,  but  have  not  recovered  my 
feet  enough  to  compass  the  whole  circuit  of  my  garden. 
Monday  last  was  pleasant,  and  Tuesday  very  warm  ; 

*  That  is,  voted  that  the  charge  relating  to  th?;  spoliation  of  the 
Begums  of  Oude  contained  matter  for  impcachmerit. 


232  Genteel  Comedy. 

but  wc  are  relapsed  into  our  east  windhood,  which  has 
reigned  ever  since  I  have  been  here  for  this  green  winter, 
which,  I  presume,  is  the  highest  title  due  to  this  season, 
which  in  southern  climes  is  positive  summer,  a  name 
imported  by  our  travellers,  with  grapes,  peaches,  and 
tuberoses.  However,  most  of  my  senses  have  enjoyed 
themselves — my  sight  with  verdure,  my  smell  by  millions 
of  honeysuckles,  my  hearing  by  nightingales,  and  my 
feeling  with  good  fires  :  tolerable  luxury  for  an  old 
cavalier  in  the  north  cf  Europe  !  Semiramis  of  Russia 
is  not  of  my  taste,  or  she  would  not  travel  half  round  the 
arctic  circle ;  unless  she  means  to  conquer  the  Turks, 
and  transfer  the  seat  of  her  empire  to  Constantinople, 
like  its  founder.  The  ghost  of  Irene  will  be  mighty 
glad  to  see  her  there,  though  a  little  surprised  that  the 
Grand  Duke,  her  son,  is  still  alive.  I  hear  she  has 
carried  her  grandchildren  with  her  as  hostages,  or  she 
might  be  dethroned,  and  not  hear  of  it  for  three 
months. 

"  I  am  very  far  from  tired.  Madam,  of  encomiums  on 
the  performance  at  Richmond  House,  but  I,  by  no 
means,  agree  with  the  criticism  on  it  that  you  quote, 
and  which,  I  conclude,  was  written  by  some  player, 
from  envy.  Who  should  act  genteel  comedy  perfectly, 
but  people  of  fashion  that  have  sense  ?  Actors  and 
actresses  can  only  guess  at  the  tone  of  high  life,  and 
can/;o^  be  inspired  with  it.  Why  are  there  so  few 
genteel  comedies,  but  because  most  comedies  are 
written  by  men  not  of  that  sphere  ?  Etherege,  Con- 
greve,  Vanbrugh,  and  Cibber  wrote  genteel  comedy. 


Genteel  Comedy.  233 

bacause  they  lived  in  the  best  company;  and  Mrs.. 
Oldfield  played  it  so  well,  because  she  not  only  followed, 
but  often  set,  the  fashion.  General  Burgoyne  has 
written  the  best  modern  comedy,  for  the  same  reason  ; 
and  Miss  Farren*  is  as  excellent  as  Mrs.  Oldfield, 
because  she  has  lived  with  the  best  style  of  men  in 
England  :  whereas  Mrs.  Abington  can  never  go  beyond 
Lady  Teazle,  which  is  a  second-rate  character,  and  that 
rank  of  women  are  always  aping  women  of  fashion, 
without  arriving  at  the  style.  Farquhar's  plays  talk 
the  language  of  a  marching  regiment  in  country 
quarters :  Wycherley,  Dryden,  Mrs.  Centlivre,  etc., 
wrote  as  if  they  had  only  lived  in  the  '  Rose  Tavern  ;'t 
but  then  the  Court  lived  in  Drury  Lane,  too,  and  Lady . 
Dorchester  and  Nell  Gwyn  were  equally  good  companj-. . 
The  Richmond  Theatre,  I  imagine,  will  take  root.  I 
supped  with  the  Duke  at  Mrs.  Damer's,  the  night 
before  I  left  London,  and  they  were  talking  of  im- 
provements on  the  local,  as  the  French  would  say." 

A  few  weeks  later,  he  has  dismissed  the  talk  of 
London,  and  is  occupied  with  his  neighbours  on  the 
Thames,     The  following  is  a  letter  to  Lord  Strafford : 

"Strawberry  Hill,  July  28,  1787. 
"  Saint  Swithin  is  no  friend  to  correspondence,  my 
dear  Lord.     There  is  not  only  a  great  sameness  in  his 
own  proceedings,  but  he  makes  everybody  else  dull — I 

*  Miss  Elizabeth  Farren,  afterwards  Countess  of  Derby. 
t  A  celebrated  tavern  aojoining  Drury  Lane  Theatre. 


234  '^^'  'S'zc/////;/. 

mean  in  the  country,  where  one  frets  at  its  rainir^j 
every  day  and  all  day.  In  town  he  is  no  more  minded 
than  the  proclamation  against  vice  and  immorality. 
Still,  though  he  has  all  the  honours  of  the  quarantine,  I 
believed  it  often  rained  for  forty  days  long  before  St. 
Swithin  was  born,  if  ever  born  he  was  ;  and  the  proverb 
■was  coined  and  put  under  his  patronage,  because  people 
observed  that  it  frequently  does  rain  for  forty  days 
together  at  this  season.  I  remember  Lady  Suffolk 
telling  me,  that  Lord  Dysart's  great  meadow  at  Kam  had 
never  been  m.owed  but  once  in  forty  years  without  rain. 
I  said,  '  All  that  that  proved  was,  that  rain  was  good 
for  hay,'  as  I  am  persuaded  the  climate  of  a  countr}- 
and  its  productions  are  suited  to  each  other.  Nay, 
rain  is  good  for  ha5"makers  too,  who  get  more  emplo}'- 
ment  the  oftener  the  hay  is  made  over  again.  I  do  not 
know  who  is  the  saint  that  presides  over  thunder ;  but 
he  has  made  an  unusual  quantity  in  this  chill  summ.er, 
and  done  a  great  deal  of  serious  mischief,  though  not  a 
fiftieth  part  of  what  Lord  George  Gordon  did  seven 
years  ago,  and  happily  he  is  fled. 

"  Our  little  part  of  the  world  has  been  quiet  as  usual. 
The  Duke  of  Queensberry  has  given  a  sumptuous  dinner 
to  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe — et  voilct  tout.  I  never 
saw  her,  not  even  in  France.  I  have  no  particular 
penchant  for  sterling  princes  and  princesses,  much  less 
for  those  of  French  plate. 

"  The  only  entertaining  thing  I  can  tell  }-our  Lord- 
r.hip  from  our  district  is,  that  old  Madam  French,  who 
lives  close  by  the  bridge  at  Hampton  Court,  where. 


River  side  Conceils.  235 

between  her  and  the  Thames,  she  has  nothing  but  one 
grass-plot  of  the  width   of  her  house,   has  paved  that 
whole  plot  with  black  and  white  marble  in  diamonds, 
exactly  like  the  fxoor   of  a  church  ;    and  this  curious 
metamorphosis  of  a  garden  into  a  pavement  has  cost 
her  three  hundred  and  forty  pounds  : — a  tarpaulin  she 
might  have  had  for  some  shillings,  which  would  have 
looked  as  well,  and  might  easily  have  been  removed. 
To  be  sure,  this  exploit,  and  Lord  Dudley's   obelisk 
hdow  a  hedge,  with  his  canal  at  right  angles  with  the 
Thames,  and  a  sham  bridge  no  broader  than  that  of  a 
violin,  and  parallel  to  the  river,  are  not  preferable  to  the 
monsters  in  dipt  yews  of  our  ancestors.     On  the  con- 
trary, Mrs.  Walsingham  is  making  her  house  at  Ditton 
(now   baptized    Boyle    Farm*)    very   orthodox.      Her 
daughter  Miss  Boyle,  who  has  real  genius,  has  carved 
three  tablets  in  marble  with  boys,  designed  by  herself. 
Those  sculptures  are  for  a  chimney-piece ;  and  she  is 
painting    panels    in    grotesque    for   the    library,  with 
pilasters  of  glass  in  black  and  gold.     Miss  Crewe,  who 
has  taste  too,  has  decorated  a  room  for  her  mother's 
house  at  Richmond,  which  was  Lady  IMargaret  Comp- 
ton's,    in   a   very   pretty   manner.      How   much    more 
amiable  the  old  women  of  the  next  age  will  be,  than 
most  of  those  we  remember,  who  used  to  tumble  at 
once  from  gallantry  to  devout  scandal  and  cards,  and 
revenge  on  the  young  of  their  own  sex  the  desertion  of 
ours  !     Now  they  are   ingenious,   they  will   not  want 
amusement." 

*  Recently  the  seat  of  Lord  St.  Leonards. 


236  Lord  North. 

In  the  autumn,  he  pays  a  visit  to  Lord  North : 

*'  I  dined  last  Monday  at  Bushy  (for  you  know  I 
have  more  penchant  for  INIinisters  that  are  out  than 
when  they  are  in)  and  never  saw  a  more  interesting 
scene.  Lord  North's  spirits,  good  humour,  wit,  sense, 
drollery,  are  as  perfect  as  ever — the  unremitting  atten- 
tion of  Lady  North  and  his  children,  most  touching. 
Mr.  North  leads  him  about.  Miss  North  sits  constantly 
by  him,  carves  meat,  watches  his  every  motion,  scarce 
puts  a  bit  into  her  own  lips  ;  and  if  one  cannot  help 
commending  her,  she  colours  with  modesty  and  sorrow 
till  the  tears  gush  into  her  eyes.  If  ever  loss  of  sight 
could  be  compensated,  it  is  by  so  affectionate  a  family." 

Not  long  after  this,  Walpole  repeats  a  good-humoured 
jest  of  the  blind  old  man  on  receiving  a  call  from  his 
quondam  opponent,  Colonel  Barrc,  whose  sight  also 
was  nearly  gone.  Lord  North  said  :  *'  Colonel  Barre, 
nobody  will  suspect  us  of  insincerity,  if  we  say  that  we 
should  always  be  overjoyed  to  see  each  other." 

With  the  return  of  winter,  the  theatre  comes  up 
again.  There  was  a  stage  at  Ampthill  as  well  as  at 
Whitehall : 

"Ecikeley  Square,  Jan.  15,  17S8. 

"All  joy  to  your  Ladyship  on  the  success  of  your 
theatric  campaign.  I  do  think  the  representation  of 
plays  as  entertaining  and  ingenious,  as  choosing  king 
and  queen,  and  the  gambols  and  mummeries  of  our 
rjicestore  at  Christmas  ;  or  as  making  one's  neighbours 


TJie  Theatre  Again.  237 

and  all  their  servants  drunk,  and  sending  them  home 
ten  miles  in  the  dark  with  the  chance  of  breaking  their 
necks  by  some  comical  overturn.  I  wish  I  could  have 
been  one  of  the  audience  ;  but,  alas  !  I  am  like  the 
African  lamb,  and  can  only  feed  on  the  grass  and  herbs 
that  grow  within  my  reach. 

"  I  can  make  no  returns  yet  from  the  theatre  at 
Richmond  House ;  the  Duke  and  Duchess  do  not  come 
till  the  birthday,  and  I  have  been  at  no  more  rehearsals, 
being  satisfied  with  two  of  the  play.  Prologue  or 
epilogue  there  is  to  be  none,  as  neither  the  plays  nor 
the  performers,  in  general,  are  new.  The  *  Jealous 
Wife '  is  to  succeed  for  the  exhibition  of  ]\Irs.  Hobart, 
who  could  have  no  part  in  '  The  Wonder.' 

"  My  histrionic  acquaintance  spreads.  I  supped  at 
Lady  Dorothy  Hotham's  with  Mrs.  Siddons,  and  have 
visited  and  been  visited  by  her,  and  have  seen  and 
liked  her  much,  yes,  very  much,  in  the  passionate 
scenes  of  *  Perc}^ ;'  but  I  do  not  admire  her  in  cool 
declamation,  and  find  her  voice  very  hollow  and  de- 
fective. I  asked  her  in  which  part  she  would  most  wish 
me  to  see  her  ?  She  named  Portia  in  the  *  Merchant  of 
Venice ;'  but  I  begged  to  be  excused.  With  all  my 
enthusiasm  for  Shakespeare,  it  is  one  of  his  plays  that 
I  like  the  least.  The  story  of  the  caskets  is  silly,  and, 
except  the  character  of  Shylock,  I  see  nothing  beyond 
the  attainment  of  a  mortal  :  Euripides,  or  Racine,  or 
Voltaire,  might  have  written  all  the  rest.  Moreover, 
Mrs.  Siddons's  warmest  devotees  do  not  hold  her  above 
a  demigoddess  in  comedy,     I  have  chosen  '  Athenai?,' 


238  Gibbous  History, 

in   which   she   is   to    appear    soon ;  her   scorn   is    ad- 
mirable  

"  Puppet-shows  are  coming  on,  the  birth-day,  the  Par- 
hament,  and  the  trial  of  Hastings  and  his  imp,  EHjah. 
They  will  fill  the  town,  I  suppose." 

Walpole  was  as  severe  on  professional  authors  as  on 
professional  actors.  "  Except,"  he  says,  "  for  such  a 
predominant  genius  as  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  I  hold 
authors  cheap  enough  :  what  merit  is  there  in  pains, 
and  study,  and  application,  compared  with  the  extem- 
pore abilities  of  such  men  as  Mr.  Fox,  Mr.  Sheridan, 
or  Mr.  Pitt  ?"  But  he  made  a  further  exception  in 
favour  of  Gibbon.  The  following  extract,  besides  an 
estimate  of  Gibbon's  History,  contains  a  reference  to 
the  celebrated  Begum  Speech  delivered  by  Sheridan 
in  Westminster  Hall  on  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings  : 

"  I  finished  Mr.  Gibbon  a  full  fortnight  ago,  and  was 
extremely  pleased.  It  is  a  most  wonderful  mass  of 
information,  not  only  on  history,  but  almost  on  all  the 
ingredients  of  history,  as  vvar,  government,  commerce, 
coin,  and  what  not.  If  it  has  a  fault,  it  is  in  embracing 
too  much,  and  consequently  in  not  detailing  enough, 
and  in  striding  backwards  and  forwards  from  one  set  of 
princes  to  another,  and  from  one  subject  to  another;  so 
that,  without  much  historic  knowledge,  and  without 
much  memory,  and  much  method  in  one's  memor}',  it 
is  almost  impossible  not  to  be  sometimes  bewildered  : 
nay,  his  owai  impatience  to  tell  what  he  knows,  makes 
the  author,  though  comm.only  so  explicit,  not  perfectly 


Sheridan,  239 

clear  in  his  expressions.  The  last  chapter  of  the  fourth 
volume,  I  own,  made  me  recoil,  and  I  could  scarcely 
push  through  it.  So  far  from  being  Catholic  or  heretic, 
I  wished  Mr.  Gibbon  had  never  heard  of  Monophysites, 
Nestorians,  or  any  such  fools !  But  the  sixth  volume 
made  ample  amends ;  Mahomet  and  the  Popes  were 
gentlemen  and  good  company.  I  abominate  fractions 
of  theology  and  reformation. 

**  Mr.  Sheridan,  I  hear,  did  not  quite  satisfy  the 
passionate  expectation  that  had  been  raised ;  but  it  was 
impossible  he  could,  when  people  had  worked  them- 
selves into  an  enthusiasm  of  offering  fifty— ay,  fifty 
guineas  for  a  ticket  to  hear  him.  Well,  we  are  sunk 
and  deplorable  in  many  points,  yet  not  absolutely  gone, 
when  history  and  eloquence  throw  out  such  shoots  !  I 
thought  I  had  outlived  my  country ;  I  am  glad  not  to 
leave  it  desperate !" 

The  next  letter  contains  further  references  to  the 
Begum  Speech.  It  is  addressed  to  Lord  vStrafford, 
and  is  one  of  the  latest  of  Walpole's  letters  to  that 
nobleman  which  have  been  preserved : 

'•  Strawberry  Hill,  Tuesday  night,  June  17,  1788. 
'*  I  guess,  my  dear  Lord,  and  only  guess,  that  you 
are  arrived  at  Wentworth  Castle.  If  you  are  not,  my 
letter  will  lose  none  of  its  bloom  by  waiting  for  you ; 
for  I  have  nothing  fresh  to  tell  you,  and  only  write 
because  5'ou  enjoined  it.  I  settled  in  my  Liliputian 
towers  but  this  morning.  I  wish  people  would  come 
into  the  country  on  May-day,  and  fix  in  town  the  first 


2  4^  Conivay  s  Co?uc<iy. 

of  November.  But  as  they  will  not,  I  have  made  up 
my  mind ;  and  having  so  little  time  left,  I  prefer 
London,  when  my  friends  and  society  are  in  it,  to 
living  here  alone,  or  with  the  weird  sisters  of  Richmond 
and  Hampton.  I  had  additional  reason  now,  for  the 
streets  are  as  green  as  the  fields :  we  are  burnt  to  the 
bone,  and  have  not  a  lock  of  hay  to  cover  our  naked- 
ness :  oats  are  so  dear,  that  I  suppose  they  will  soon  be 
eaten  at  Brooks's  and  fashionable  tables  as  a  rarity. 
Though  not  resident  till  now,  I  have  flitted  backwards 
and  forwards,  and  last  Friday  came  hither  to  look  for 
a  minute  at  a  ball  at  Mrs.  Walsingham's  at  Ditton  ; 
which  would  have  been  very  pretty,  for  she  had  stuck 
coloured  lamps  in  the  hair  of  all  her  trees  and  bushes, 
if  the  east  wind  had  not  danced  a  reel  all  the  time 
by  the  side  of  the  river. 

"  Mr.  Conway's  play,-'-'  of  which  your  Lordship  has  seen 
some  account  in  the  papers,  has  succeeded  delightfully, 
both  in  representation  and  applause.  The  language  is 
most  genteel,  though  translated  from  verse ;  and  both 
prologue  and  epilogue  are  charming.  The  former  was 
delivered  most  justly  and  admirably  by  Lord  Derby, 
and  the  latter  with  inimitable  spirit  and  grace  by  Airs. 
Damer.  Mr.  Merry  and  Airs.  Bruce  played  excellently 
too.  But  General  Conway,  Mrs.  Damer,  and  ever}-- 
body  else  are  drowned  b}^  Mr.  Sheridan,  whose  renown 
has  engrossed  all  Fame's  tongues  and  trumpets.     Lord 

*  A  comedy  called  "  False  Appearances,"  trnns'ated  from 
"L'Homme  dii  Jour"  of  Boissy.  It  was  first  acted  at  liic  piivate 
theatre  at  Richmcnd  Hois  ,  and  afterwards  at  Drury  Lr.nc. 


A   Turkish  War,  2\\ 

Townsliend  said  he  should  be  sorry  were  he  forced  to 
give  a  vote  directly  on  Hastings,  before  he  had  time  to 
cool ;  and  one  of  the  Peers  saying  the  speech  had  not 
made  the  same  impression  on  him,  the  Marquis  replied, 
A  seal  might  be  finely  cut,  and  yet  not  be  in  fault  for 
making  a  bad  impression. 

'•'I  have,  you  see,  been  forced  to  send  your  Lordship 
what  scraps  I  brought  from  town.  The  next  four 
months,  I  doubt,  will  reduce  me  to  my  old  sterility ; 
for  I  cannot  retail  French  Gazettes,  though  as  a  good 
Englishman  bound  to  hope  they  will  contain  a  civil 
war.  I  care  still  less  about  the  double  imperial  cam- 
paign, only  hoping  that  the  poor  dear  Turks  will 
heartily  beat  both  Emperor  and  Empress.  If  the  first 
Ottomans  could  be  punished,  they  deserve  it,  but  the 
present  possessors  have  as  good  a  prescription  on  their 
side  as  any  people  in  Europe.  We  ourselves  are 
Saxons,  Danes,  Normans  ;  our  neighbours  are  Franks, 
not  Gauls  ;  who  the  rest  are,  Goths,  Gepidse,  Heruli, 
Mr.  Gibbon  knows  ;  and  the  Dutch  usurped  the  estates' 
of  herrings,  turbots,  and  other  marine  indigense.  Still, 
though  I  do  not  wish  the  hair  of  a  Turk's  beard  to  be 
hurt,  I  do  not  say  that  it  would  not  be  amusing  to 
have  Constantinople  taken,  merely  as  a  lusty  event ; 
for  neither  could  I  live  to  see  Athens  revive,  nor  have  I 
much  faith  in  two  such  bloody-minded  vultures,  cock 
and  hen,  as  Catherine  and  Joseph,  conquering  for  the 
benefit  of  humanity ;  nor  does  my  Christianity  admire 
the  propagation  of  the  Gospel  by  the  mouth  of  cannon. 
What  desolation  of  peasants  and  their  families  by  the 

i6 


242  A    Turkish   War. 

episodes  cI  forage  and  quarters  !  Oh  !  I  wish  Catherine 
and  Joseph  were  brought  to  Westminster  Hall  and 
worried  by  Sheridan !  I  hope,  too,  that  the  poor 
Begums  are  alive  to  hear  of  his  speech  :  it  will  be  some 
comfort,  though  I  doubt  nobody  thinks  of  restoring 
them  a  quarter  of  a  lac  !" 

We  must  nov/  find  place  for  a  letter  to  !Miss  More : 

*•  Strawberry  Hill.  July  4,  1788. 

"  I  am  soundly  rejoiced,  my  dear  Madam,  that  the 
present  summer  is  more  favourable  to  me  than  the 
last ;  and  that,  instead  of  not  ansv/ering  my  letters  in 
three  months,  you  open  the  campaign  first.  May  not 
I  flatter  myself  that  it  is  a  symptom  of  your  being  in 
better  health  ?  I  v.ish,  however,  you  had  told  m.e  so 
in  positive  v/ords,  and  that  all  your  com^plaints  have 
left  5'ou.  Welcome  as  is  your  letter,  it  would  have 
been  ten  times  more  welcome  bringing  me  that  assur- 
ance ;  for  don't  think  I  forget  how  ill  you  was  last 
winter.  As  letters,  you  say,  now  keep  their  coaches,  I 
hope  those  from  Bristol  will  call  often  at  my  door.*  I 
promise  you  I  will  never  be  denied  to  them. 

'■  No  botanist  am  I ;  nor  wished  to  learn  from  3'02/,  of 

■*  Meaning  the  establishment  of  the  Mail-coach.  Miss  More, 
in  her  last  letter,  had  said, — "  Mail-coaches,  which  come  to 
others,  come  not  to  me  :  letters  and  newspapers,  now  that  they 
travel  in  coaches,  like  gentlemen  and  ladies,  come  not  wiihin  ten 
miles  of  my  hermitai^e  ;  and  while  other  fortunate  provincials  arc 
studying  the  world  and  its  ways,  and  are  feasting  upon  elopements, 
divorces,  and  suicides,  tricked  out  in  all  the  elegancies  of  Mr.  Top- 
ham's  phraseology,  I  am  obliged  to  be  contented  with  village  vices, 
p2tty  iniquities,  and  vulgar  sins." — Ma;:oirs.  vol.  ii.,  p.  77. 


Society  Nezvspapers.  243 

all  the  Muses,  that  piping  has  a  new  signification.  I 
had  rather  that  you  handled  an  oaten  pipe  than  a  car- 
nation one ;  yet  setting  layers,  I  own,  is  preferable  to 
reading  newspapers,  one  of  the  chronical  maladies  of 
this  age.  Everybody  reads  them,  nay,  quotes  them, 
though  everybody  knows  they  are  stuffed  with  lies  or 
blunders.  How  should  it  be  otherwise  ?  If  any  extra- 
ordinary event  happens,  who  but  must  hear  it  before  it 
descends  through  a  coffee-house  to  the  runner  of  a 
daily  paper  ?  They  who  are  always  wanting  news,  are 
wanting  to  hear  they  don't  know  what.  A  lower 
species,  indeed,  is  that  of  the  scribes  you  mention,  who 
every  night  compose  a  journal  for  the  satisfaction  of 
such  illiterati,  and  feed  them  with,  all  the  vices  and 
misfortunes  of  every  private  family  ;  nay,  they  now  call  it 
a  duty  to  publish  all  those  calamities  which  decency  to 
wretched  relations  used  in  compassion  to  suppress,  I 
mean  self-murder  in  particular.  Mr.  Hesse's  was 
detailed  at  length  ;  and  to-day  that  of  Lord  Saye  and 
Sele.  The  pretence  is,  in  tcrrorcin,  like  the  absurd 
stake  and  highway  of  our  ancestors  ;  as  if  there  were  a 
precautionary  potion  for  madness,  or  the  stigma  of  a 
newspaper  Vv^ere  more  dreadful  than  death.  Daily 
journalists,  to  be  sure,  are  most  respectable  magis- 
trates !  Yes,  much  like  the  cobblers  that  Cromwell 
made  peers. 

"  I  do  lament  3^our  not  going  to  ]\Ir.  Conway's  play  : 
both  the  author  and  actors  deserved  such  an  auditor  as 
you,  and  you  deserved  to  hear  them.  However,  I  do 
not  pity  good  people  who  out  of  virtue  lose  or  miss  any 

16 — 2 


244  Socicly  Ncivspapei's. 

pleasures.  Those  pastiir.es  fleet  as  fast  as  those  of  the 
wicked  ;  but,  when  gone,  you  saints  can  sit  down  and 
feast  on  your  self-denial,  and  drink  bumpers  of  satisfac- 
tion to  the  health  of  your  own  merit.  So  truly  I  don"t 
pity  you. 

*'  You  say  you  hear  no  news,  yet  you  quote  Mr. 
Topham  ;*  therefore  why  should  I  tell  you  that  the 
King  is  going  to  Cheltenham  ?  or  that  the  Baccelli 
lately  danced  at  the  Opera  at  Paris  with  a  blue  ban- 
deau on  her  forehead,  inscribed,  Honi  soit  qui  vial  y 
peuse  ! 

"Well!  would  we  committed  nothing  but  follies! 
What  do  we  not  commit  when  the  abolition  of  slavery 
hitches  1     Adieu ! 

**  Though  Cato  died,  though  TuUy  spoke, 
Though  Brutus  dealt  the  godlike  stroke, 
Yet  perish'd  fated  Rome. 

*'  Yon  have  written  ;  and  I  fear  that  even,  if  Mr. 
Sheridan  speaks,  trade,  the  modern  religion,  will  pre- 
dominate.    Adieu  1" 

Our  next  extract  contains  an  account  of  an  incident 
which  proved  more  fortunate  for  the  writer  than  any- 
thing that  happened  to  him  during  the  remainder  of 

■•••  Major  Topham  was  the  proprietor  of  the  fashionable  morning 
i^nper  entitled  T/'ie  World.  "  In  this  paper,"  says  Mr.  Gifford,  in 
J»is  preface  to  the  "  Baviad,"  "  were  given  the  earliest  specimens  of 
those  unqualified  and  audacious  attacks  on  all  private  character, 
\ihich  the  town  first  smiled  at  for  their  quaintness,  then  tolerated 
1i)r  their  absurdity  ;  and — now  that  other  papers  equally  wicked 
;tnd  more  intelligible  have  ventured  to  imitate  it — will  have  to 
4.u«ent  to  the  last  hour  of  British  liberty." 


The  ]\Iisscs  Berry.  245 

his  life.     It  is  from  a  letter   to    Lady  Ossory,   dated 
Strawberry  Hill,  October  11,  1788.     Horace  writes  : 

''  I  am  sorry,  for  the  third  time  of  this  letter,  that  I 
have  no  new  village  anecdotes  to  send  your  Ladyship, 
since  they  divert  you  for  a  moment.  I  have  one,  but 
some  mcfnths  old.  Lady  Charleville,  my  neighbour, 
told  me  three  months  ago,  that,  having  some  company 
with  her,  one  of  them  had  been  to  see  Strawberr}-. 
'  Pray,'  said  another,  '  who  is  that  Mr.  Walpole  ?' 
*  Who  !'  cried  a  third,  '  don't  you  know  the  great 
epicure,  Mr.  Walpole?'  'Pho!'  said  the  first,  'great 
epicure !  you  mean  the  antiquarian.'  There,  Madam, 
surely  this  anecdote  may  take  its  place  in  the  chapter 
of  local  fame.  If  I  have  picked  up  no  recent  anecdotes 
on  our  Common,  I  have  made  a  much  more,  to  me, 
precious  acquisition.  It  is  the  acquaintance  of  two 
young  ladies  of  the  name  of  Berry,  whom  I  first  saw 
last  winter,  and  who  accidentally  took  a  house  here 
with  their  father  for  the  season.  Their  story  is  singular 
enough  to  entertain  you.  The  grandfather,^^  a  Scot,  had 
a  large  estate  in  his  o\\\\  country,  ^5,000  a  year  it  is 
said ;  and  a  circumstance  I  shall  tell  you  makes  it  pro- 
bable. The  oldest  son  married  for  love  a  woman  with 
no  fortune.  The  old  man  was  enraged,  and  would  not 
see  him.  His  wife  died  and  left  these  two  young  ladies. 
The  grandfather  wished  for  an  heir  male,  and  pressed 
the  widower  to  remarr}^,  but  could  not  prevail ;  the  son 
declaring  he  would  consecrate  himself  to  his  daughters 

*  Walpole  was  mistaken  here.  It  was  their  granduncle,  not 
their  grandfather,  from  whom  Mr.  Beny  had  expected  to  inherit. 


246  The  Misses  Berry. 

and  their  education.  The  old  man  did  not  break  \vith 
him  again,  but,  much  worse,  totally  disinherited  him, 
and  left  all  to  his  second  son,  who  very  handsomely 
gave  up  ;,r8oo  a  year  to  his  elder  brother.  Mr.  Berry 
has  since  carried  his  daughters  for  two  or  three  years 
to  France  and  Italy,  and  they  are  returned  the  best- 
informed  and  the  most  perfect  creatures  I  ever  saw  at 
their  age.  They  are  exceedingly  sensible,  entirely 
natural  and  unaffected,  frank,  and,  being  quahfied  to 
talk  on  any  subject,  nothing  is  so  easy  and  agreeable  as 
their  conversation,  nor  more  apposite  than  their  an- 
swers and  observations.  The  eldest,  I  discovered  by 
chance,  understands  Latin  and  is  a  perfect  French- 
woman in  her  language.  The  younger  draws  charm- 
ingly, and  has  copied  admirably  Lady  Di's  gipsies, 
which  I  lent,  though  for  the  first  time  of  her 
attempting  colours.  They  are  of  pleasing  figures. 
JSIary,  the  eldest,  sweet,  with  fine  dark  eyes,  that  are 
very  lively  when  she  speaks,  with  a  S3-mmetry  of  face 
that  is  the  more  interesting  from  being  pale ;  Agnes, 
the  younger,  has  an  agreeable  sensible  countenance, 
hardly  to  be  called  handsome,  but  almost.  She  is  less 
animated  than  Jdary,  but  seems,  cut  of  deference  to  her 
sister,  to  speak  seldomer,  for  they  dote  on  each  other, 
and  r\Iary  is  always  praising  her  sister's  talents.  I 
must  even  tell  you  they  dress  within  the  bounds  cf 
fashion,  though  fashionably ;  but  without  the  excres- 
cences and  balconies  with  which  modern  hoydens  over- 
whelm and  barricade  their  persons.  In  short,  good 
sense,  information,    simplicity,  and   ease   characterise 


The  Misses  Berry.  247 

the  Berrys  ;  and  this  is  not  particularly  mine,  who  am 
apt  to  be  prejudiced,  but  the  universal  voice  of  all  who 
know  them.  The  first  night  I  met  them  I  would  not 
be  acquainted  with  them,  having  heard  so  much  in 
their  praise  that  I  concluded  they  would  be  all  preten- 
sion. The  second  time,  in  a  very  small  company,  I 
sat  next  to  Mary,  and  found  her  an  angel  both  inside 
and  out.  Now,  I  do  not  know  which  I  like  best;  except 
Mary's  face,  which  is  formed  for  a  sentimental  novel, 
but  it  is  ten  times  fitter  for  a  fifty  times  better  thing, 
genteel  comedy.  This  delightful  family  comes  to  me 
almost  every  Sunday  evening,  as  our  region  is  too 
prodamatory  to  play  at  cards  on  the  seventh  day.  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Berry  is  a  little  merry  man,' 
with  a  round  face,  and  you  would  not  suspect  him  of  so 
much  feeling  and  attachment.  I  make  no  excuse  for 
such  minute  details ;  for,  if  your  Ladyship  insists  on 
hearing  the  humours  of  my  district,  you  must  for  once 
indulge  me  with  sending  you  two  pearls  that  I  found  in 
my  path." 

At  the  date  ot  the  above  extract,  Mary  Berry  was  in 
her  twenty-sixth  year,  Agnes  Berry  in  her  twenty-fifth. 
The  notice  taken  by  Walpole  of  these  ladies  gave  them 
a  position  in  the  best  London  society,  which  they  en- 
joyed for  upwards  of  sixty  years;  but  this  patronage, 
and  any  other  benefits  which  he  bestowed  upon  them, 
were  much  more  than  repaid  by  the  grateful  attention 
with  which  they  sacrificed  themselves  to  promote  the 
comfort  of  his  last  years.     The  new  acquaintance  ac- 


2  [S  The  Misses  Berry. 

vanced  rapidly.  Here  is  one  of  the  earliest  of  Walpole's 
letters  to  the  sisters  which  has  been  published.  Like 
many  others  of  the  series,  it  is  addressed  to  the  two 
jointly. 

"February  2,  17 — 71-''  [17S9]. 

"  I  am  sorr}^  in  the  sense  of  that  word  before  it 
meant,  like  a  Hebrew  word,  glad  or  sorry,  that  I  am 
engaged  this  evening ;  and  I  am  at  your  command  on 
Tuesday,  as  it  is  always  my  inclination  to  be.  It  is  a 
misfortune  that  words  are  become  so  much  the  current 
coin  of  society,  that,  like  King  William's  shillings,  they 
have  no  impression  left ;  they  are  so  smooth,  that  they 
mark  no  moi"e  to  whom  they  first  belonged  than  to 
whom  they  do  belong,  and  are  not  worth  even  the 
twelvepence  into  which  they  may  be  changed :  but  if 
they  mean  too  little,  they  may  seem  to  mean  too  much 
too,  especially  when  an  old  man  (who  is  often  synony- 
mous for  a  miser)  parts  with  them.  I  am  afraid  of 
protesting  how  much  I  delight  in  your  society,  lest  I 
should  seem  to  affect  being  gallant ;  but  if  two  nega- 
tives make  an  affirmative,  why  may  not  two  ridicules 
compose  one  piece  of  sense  ?  and  therefore,  as  I  am  in 
love  with  you  both,  I  trust  it  is  a  proof  of  the  good 
sense  of  3'our  devoted  H.  Walpole." 

A  few  months  later  we  have  the  following  letter  to 
Miss  More: 

*  The  date  is  thus  put,  alluding  to  lus  age,  which,  in  1789,  ^vas 
seventy-one. — I\Iary  Bekry. 


Bonner  s  Ghost  249 

"  Strawberry  Hill,  June  23,  17S9. 

"'Madam  Hannah, 

"  You  are  an  errant  reprobate,  and  grow  wickeder 
and  wickeder  every  day.  You  deserve  to  be  treated 
like  a  negre ;  and  your  favourite  Sunday,  to  which  you 
are  so  partial,  that  you  treat  the  other  poor  six  days  of  the 
week  as  if  they  had  no  souls  to  be  saved,  should,  if  I 
could  have  my  will,  '  shine  no  Sabbath-day  for  you.' 
Now,  don't  simper,  and  look  as  innocent  as  if  virtue 
would  not  melt  in  your  mouth.  Can  you  deny  the 
following  charges  ? — I  lent  you  the  '  Botanic  Garden,' 
and  you  returned  it  without  writing  a  syllable,  or  saying 
where  you  were,  or  whither  you  was  going ;  I  suppose 
for  fear  I  should  know  how  to  direct  to  you.  Why,  if  I 
did  send  a  letter  after  you,  could  not  you  keep  it  three 
months  without  an  answer,  as  you  did  last  year  ? 

**  In  the  next  place,  you  and  your  nine  accomplices, 
who,  by  the  way,  are  too  good  in  keeping  you  company, 
have  clubbed  the  prettiest  Poem  imaginable,*  and  com- 
municated it  to  Mrs.  Boscawen,  with  injunctions  not  to 
give  a  copy  of  it ;  I  suppose  because  you  are  ashamed 
of  having  written  a  panegyric.  Whenever  you  do 
compose  a  satire,  you  are  ready  enough  to  publish  it ; 
at  least,  whenever  you  do,  you  will  din  one  to  death 
with  it.  But  now,  mind  your  perverseness  :  that  very 
pretty  novel  poem,  and  I  must  own  it  is  charming,  have 
you  gone  and  spoiled,  flying  in  the  faces  of  your  best 
friends  the  Muses,  and  keeping  no  measures  with  them. 

"Bishop  Bonner's  Ghost. 


2^0 


Bonner's  Ghost. 


I'll  be  shot  if  they  dictated  two  of  the  best  lines  with 
two  syllables  too  much  in  each — nay,  you  have  weak- 
ened one  of  them, 

"  '  Ev'n  Gardiner'5  mind  ' 

is  far  more  expressive  than  steadfast  Gardiner's ;  and, 
as  Mrs.  Boscawen  says,  whoever  knows  anything  of 
Gardiner,  could  not  want  that  superfluous  epithet ;  and 
whoever  does  not,  would  not  be  the  wiser  for  your  foolish 
insertion — Mrs.  Boscawen  did  not  call  it  foolish,  but  I 
do.  The  second  line,  as  Mesdemoiselles  the  Muses 
handed  it  to  you,  Miss,  was, 

"  '  Have  all  be  free  and  saved — ' 

not,  *  All  be  free  and  all  be  saved  :'  the  second  all  he  is  a 
most  unnecessary  tautolog}'.  The  poem  was  perfect 
and  faultless,  if  you  could  have  let  it  alone.  I  wonder 
how  your  mischievous  flippancy  could  help  maiming 
that  most  new  and  beautiful  expression,  '  sponge  of 
sins;'  I  should  not  have  been  surprised,  as  you  love 
verses  too  full  of  feet,  if  you  had  changed  it  to  '  that 
scrubbing-brush  of  sins.' 

"  Well  !  I  will  say  no  more  now  :  but  if  5"ou  do  not 
order  me  a  copy  of  *  Bonner's  Ghost '  incontinent!}', 
never  dare  to  look  my  printing-house  in  the  face  again. 
Or  come,  I'll  tell  you  what ;  I  will  forgive  all  your 
enormities  if  you  will  let  me  print  your  poem.  I  like 
to  filch  a  little  immortality  out  of  others,  and  the  Straw- 
berry press  could  never  have  a  better  opportunity.  I 
will  not  haggle  for  the  public ;  I  will  be  content  witli 


Bonner s  Ghost.  251 

printing  only  two  hundred  copies,  of  which  you  shall 
have  half  and  I  half.  It  shall  cost  you  nothing  but  a 
yes.  I  only  propose  this  in  case  you  do  not  mean  to 
print  it  yourself.  Tell  me  sincerely  which  you  like. 
But  as  to  not  printing  it  at  all,  charming  and  unexcep- 
tionable as  it  is,  you  cannot  be  so  preposterous. 

"I  by  no  means  have  a  thought  of  detracting  from 
your  own  share  in  5'our  own  poem  ;  but,  as  I  do  suspect 
that  it  caught  some  inspiration  from  your  perusal  of 
*  The  Botanic  Garden,'  so  I  hope  you  will  discover  that 
my  style  is  much  improved  by  having  lately  studied 
'  Bruce's  Travels.'  There  I  dipped,  and  not  in  St. 
Giles's  Pound,  where  one  would  think  this  author  had 
been  educated.  Adieu  !  Your  friend,  or  mortal  foe,  as 
3-ou  behave  on  the  present  occasion." 

Before  the  date  of  the  last,  the  Misses  Berry  had  set 
out  on  a  summer  excursion.  The  following  is  in  answer 
to  a  letter  from  the  elder  : 

"  Strawberry  Hill,  Jane  30,  1789. 
*'  Were  there  any  such  thing  as  sympathy  at  the 
distance  of  two  hundred  miles,  j'ou  would  have  been  in 
a  mightier  panic  than  I  was;  for,  on  Saturday  se'nnight, 
going  to  open  the  glass  case  in  the  Tribune,  my  foot 
caught  in  the  carpet,  and  I  fell  with  my  whole  weight 
(,si  weight  y  a)  against  the  corner  of  the  marble  altar 
on  my  side,  and  bruised  the  muscles  so  badly,  that  for 
two  days  I  could  not  move  ^vithout  screaming.  I  am 
convinced  I  should  have  broken  a  rib,  but  that  I  fell  on 
the  cavity  whence  two  of  ni}-  ribs  were  removed  that 


252  The  Arabian  NigJUs. 

are  gone  to  Yorkshire.  I  am  much  better  both  of  my 
bruise  and  of  my  lamenes?,  and  shall  be  ready  to  dance 
at  my  own  wedding  \\  hen  my  wives  return.  And  now 
to  answer  your  letter. 

"  If  j-ou  grow  tired  of  the  'Arabian  Nights.'  you 
have  no  more  taste  than  Bishop  Atterbury,  who  huffed 
Pope  for  sending  liim  them  (or  the  'Persian  Tales"), 
and  fancied  he  liked  Virgil  better,  who  had  no  more 
imagination  than  Dr.  Akenside.  Read  '  Sinbad  the 
Sailor's  Voyages,'  and  you  will  be  sick  of  ^neas's. 
What  woful  invention  were  the  nasty  poultry  that 
spoiled  his  dinner,  and  ships  on  fire  turned  into  Nereids ! 
A  barn  metamorphosed  into  a  cascade  in  a  pantomime 
is  full  as  sublime  an  effort  of  genius.  I  do  not  know 
whether  the  'Arabian  Nights  '  are  of  Oriental  origin  or 
not  :  I  should  think  not,  because  I  never  saw  any  other 
Oriental  composition  that  was  not  bombast  without 
genius,  and  figurative  without  nature ;  like  an  Indian 
screen,  where  you  see  little  men  on  the  foreground,  and 
larger  men  hunting  tigers  above  in  the  air,  which  they 
take  for  perspective.  I  do  not  think  the  Sultaness's 
narratives  very  natural  or  very  probable,  but  there  is  a 
wildness  in  them  that  captivates.  However,  if  you 
could  wade  through  two  octavos*  of  Dame  Piozzi's 
ihongli's  and  so's  and  I  tyo'ii.''s,  and  cannot  listen  to  seven 
volumes  of  Scheherezade's  narrations,  I  will  sue  for  a 

*  Her  "  Observations  and  Reflections  made  in  the  course  of  a 
Journey  thi"ough  France,  Italy,  and  Germany,"  honoured  with 
a  couplet  in  the  "  Baviad" — 

"  See  Thrale's  grey  widow  with  a  satchel  roam, 
And  bring  in  pomp  laborious  nothings  ho  r,e." 


King's  College  Chapel.  253 

divorce  in  foro  Parnassi,  and  Boccaliiii  shall  be  my 
proctor.  The  cause  will  be  a  counterpart  to  the  sentence 
of  the  Lacedaemonian,  who  was  condemned  for  breach 
of  the  peace,  by  saying  in  three  words  what  he  might 
have  said  in  two. 

"  So,,  you  was  not  quite  satisfied,  though  you  ought  to 
have  been  transported,  with  King's  College  Chapel, 
because  it  has  no  aisles,  like  every  common  cathedral. 
I  suppose  you  would  object  to  a  bird  of  paradise, 
because  it  has  no  legs,  but  shoots  to  heaven  in  a  trail, 
and  does  not  rest  on  earth.  Criticism  and  comparison 
spoil  many  tastes.  You  should  admire  all  bold  and 
unique  essays  that  resemble  nothing  else  ;  the  '  Botanic 
Garden,'  the  ''  Arabian  Nights,'  and  King's  Chapel  are 
above  all  rules  :  and  how  preferable  is  what  no  one  can 
imitate,  to  all  that  is  imitated  even  from  the  best 
models  !  Your  partiality  to  the  pageantry  of  popery  I 
do  approve,  and  I  doubt  whether  the  world  would  not  be 
a  loser  (in  its  visionary  enjoyments)  by  the  extinction 
of  that  religion,  as  it  was  by  the  decay  of  chivalry  and 
the  proscription  of  the  heathen  deities.  Reason  has 
no  invention  ;  and  as  plain  sense  will  never  be  the 
legislator  of  human  affairs,  it  is  fortunate  when  taste 
happens  to  be  regent." 

During  the  absence  of  his  young  favourites,  he  amuses 
himself  with  visiting  his  neighbours,  and  grumbling  at 
his  "customers,"  as  he  called  the  strangers  who  came 
to  view  his  villa  and  grounds  : 

*'  Richmond   is   in   the   first    request   this   summer. 


254  Riciuuond  Society. 

Mrs.  Eouverie  is  settled  there  with  a  large  court.  The 
Sheridans  are  there,  too,  and  the  Bunburys.  I  have 
been  once  with  the  first ;  with  the  others  I  am  not 
acquainted.  I  go  once  or  twice  a  week  to  George 
Selwyn  late  in  the  evening,  when  he  comes  in  from 
walking: — about  as  often  to  Mrs.  Ellis  here,  and  to 
Lady  Cecilia  Johnston  at  Hampton ;  but  all  together 
cannot  contribute  to  an  entertaining  letter,  and  it  is  odd 
to  say  that,  though  my  house  is  all  the  morning  full  of 
company,  nobody  lives  so  much  alone.  I  have  already 
this  season  had  between  seventy  and  fourscore  com- 
panies to  see  my  house ;  and  half  my  time  passes  in 
writing  tickets  or  excuses.  I  wish  I  could  think  as  an 
old  sexton  did  at  King's  College.  One  of  the  fellows 
told  him  he  must  get  a  great  deal  of  money  by  showing 
it  :  *  Oh;  no  !  master,'  replied  he  ;  '  everybody  has  seen 
it  now.'  hly  companies,  it  seems,  are  more  prolific,  and 
every  set  begets  one  or  two  more." 

About  the  same  date,  he  writes  to  Mary  and  Agnes : 


"Strawberry  Hill,  Thursday  evening,  Aug.  27,  1789. 

"I  jumped  for  joy;  that  is,  my  heart  did,  which  is 
all  the  remains  of  m^e  that  is  in  statu  jmnpantc,  at  the 
receipt  of  your  letter  this  morning,  which  tells  me  you 
approve  of  the  house  at  Teddington.  How  kind  you 
was  to  answer  so  incontinently  !  I  believe  you  bor- 
rowed the  best  steed  from  the  races.  I  have  sent  to 
the  landlord  to  come  to  me  to-morrov.- :  but  I  could 


Tcddinglon.  255 

not  resist  beginning  my  letter  to-night,  as  I  am  at  home 
alone,  with  a  little  pain  in  my  left  wrist ;  but  the  right 
one  has  no  brotherly  feeling  for  it,  and  would  not  be 
put  off  so.  You  ask  how  you  have  deserved  such 
attentions  ?  Why,  by  deserving  them  ;  by  every  kind 
of  merit,  and  by  that  superlative  one  to  me,  your  sub- 
mitting to  throw  away  so  much  time  on  a  forlorn 
antique  ;  you  two,  who,  without  specifying  particulars, 
(and  you  must  at  least  be  conscious  that  you  are  not 
two  frights)  might  expect  any  fortune  and  distinctions, 
and  do  delight  all  companies.  On  which  side  lies  the 
wonder  ?  Ask  me  no  more  such  questions,  or  I  will 
cram  you  with  reasons.  .  .  . 

Friday. 
**  Well !  I  have  seen  him,  and  nobody  vras  ever  so 
accommodating !  He  is  as  courteous  as  a  candidate 
for  a  county.  You  may  stay  in  his  house  till  Christmas 
if  you  please,  and  shall  pay  but  twenty  pounds  ;  and  if 
more  furniture  is  wanting,  it  shall  be  supplied." 

**  Don't  bring  me  a  pair  of  scissors  from  Sheffield.  I 
am  determined  nothing  shall  cut  our  loves,  though  I 
should  live  out  the  rest  of  Methusalem's  term,  as  you 
kindly  wish,  and  as  I  can  believe,  though  you  are  my 
wives  ;  for  I  am  persuaded  my  Agnes  wishes  so  too. — 
Don't  you  ?" 

The  French  Revolution  was  now  in  full  progress : 
the  Bastile  had  been  stormed  and  demolished ;  anarcy 


256  New  Arrivals. 

reigned  in  Paris  ;  chateaux  in  the  provinces  were  being 
plundered  and  burnt  by  the  peasants  ;  refugees,  in  terri- 
fied crowds,  were  pouring  over  to  England.  Some  of 
the  exiles  presently  found  their  way  into  Walpole's 
neighbourhood.  "  Madame  de  Boufflers,"  he  tells  Lady 
Ossory,  "  and  the  Comtesse  Emilie,  her  daughter-in- 
law,  I  hear,  are  come  to  London  ;  and  Woronzow,  the 
Russian  Minister,  who  has  a  house  at  Richmond,  is  to 
lend  it  to  her  for  the  winter,  as  her  fortune  has  received 
some  considerable  blow  in  the  present  commotions." 
Besides  these  foreigners,  other  important  personages 
had  come  or  were  com.ing  into  the  district.  The  Duke 
of  Clarence  had  a  house  in  the  middle  of  Richmond 
"  with  nothing  but  a  green  short  apron  to  the  river,  a 
situation  only  fit  for  an  old  gentlewoman  who  has  put 
out  her  knee-paas  and  loves  cards.  The  Prince  of 
Wales  has  taken  a  somewhat  better  place  at  Roe- 
hampton,  and  enters  upon  it  at  Christmas.''  "  My 
Straw-Berries,*'  he  adds,  ''are  not  yet  returned,  but  I 
expect  them  next  week,  and  have  found  a  house  for 
them  at  Teddington  very  near  me."  A  little  later,  he 
writes,  "  My  neighbour,  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  is  so 
popular,  that  if  Richmond  were  a  borough,  and  he  had 
not  attained  his  title,  bat  still  retained  his  idea  ot 
standing  candidate,  he  would  certainly  be  elected  there. 
He  pays  his  bills  regularly  himself,  locks  up  his  doors 
at  night,  that  his  servants  may  not  sta}'  out  late,  and 
never  drinks  but  a  few  glasses  of  wine.  Though  the 
value  of  crowns  is  mightily  fallen  of  late  at  market,  it 
looks  as  if  his  Royal  Highness  thought  they  were  still 


The  Berry s    VHsit  Italy.  257 

\vOith  waiting  for ;  nay,  it  is  said  that  he  tells  his 
brothers  that  he  shall  be  king  before  either — that  is 
fair  at  least. "* 

In  July,  1790,  Walpole  is  alarmed  by  the  intelligence 
that  the  Berrys  have  arranged  to  make  a  long  visit  to 
Italy.  He  writes  to  Miss  Berry,  then  at  the;  sea  with 
her  sister  : 

"  I  feel  all  the  ki.idncss  of  your  determination  of 
coming  to  Twickenham  in  August,  and  shall  certainly 
say  no  more  against  it,  though  I  am  certain  that  I 
shall  count  every  day  that  passes ;  and  when  ihcy  arc 
passed,  they  will  leave  a  melancholy  impression  on  Straw- 
berry, that  I  had  rather  have  affixed  to  London.  The 
two  last  summers  were  infinitely  the  pleasantest  I  ever 
passed  here,  for  I  never  before  had  an  agreeable 
neighbourhood.  Still  I  loved  the  place,  and  had  no 
comparisons  to  draw.  Now,  the  neighbourhood  will 
remain,  and  will  appear  ten  times  worse  ;  with  the 
aggravation  of  remembering  two  months  that  may  have 
some  transient  roses,  but,  I  am  sure;  lasting  thorns. 
You  tell  me  I  do  not  write  with  my  usual  spirits :  at 
least  I  will  suppress,  as  much  as  I  can,  the  want  of 
them,  though  I  am  a  bad  dissembler." 

The  months  pass,  and  we  have  the  following  farewell 
letter  : 

'^  One  half  the  prediction  was  fulfilled,  since  the  Dulce  of 
Clarence  outlived  the  Duke  of  York,  and  came  to  the  throne  in 
1830,  on  the  death  of  his  eldest  brother,  at  this  time,  17S9,  the 
Prince  of  Wales. 

^7 


2:;S  Farewell  LeUcr. 


"  Sunday,  Oct.  lo,  1790.     The  day  of  your  departure. 

**  Is  it  possible  to  write  to  my  beloved  friends,  and 
refrain  from  speaking  of  my  grief  for  losing  you  ;  though 
it  is  but  the  continuation  of  what  I  have  felt  ever 
since  I  was  stunned  by  your  intention  of  going  abroad 
this  autumn  ?  Still  I  will  not  tire  you  with  it  often. 
In  happy  days  I  smiled,  and  called  you  my  dear 
wives  :  now  I  can  only  think  on  you  as  darling  chil- 
dren of  whom  I  am  bereaved  !  As  such  I  have  loved 
and  do  love  you  ;  and,  charming  as  you  both  are,  I 
have  had  no  occasion  to  remind  myself  that  I  am  past 
seventy-three.  Your  hearts,  your  understandings, 
your  virtues,  and  the  cruel  injustice  of  your  fate,'^ 
have  interested  me  in  everything  that  concerns  you  ; 
and  so  far  from  having  occasion  to  blush  for  any 
unbecoming  weakness,  I  am  proud  of  my  affection  for 
you,  and  very  proud  of  your  condescending  to  pass  so 
many  hours  with  a  very  old  man,  when  everybody 
admires  j-ou,  and  the  most  insensible  allow  that  your 
good  sense  and  information  (I  speak  of  both)  have 
formed  you  to  converse  with  the  most  intelligent  of  our 
sex  as  well  as  your  own  ;  and  neither  can  tax  you  with 
airs  of  pretension  or  affectation.  Your  simplicity  and 
natural  ease  set    off  all  your  other  merits — all   these 

*  This  al'udes  to  Miss  Berry's  father  having  been  disinherited  Uy 
an  uncle,  to  whoni  he  was  heir-at-law,  and  a  large  property  left  to 
his  younger  broiher. — !Mary  Berry. 


Farewell  Letter.  259 

.qraces  are  lost  to  me,  alas  !  when  I  have  no  time  to 
lose. 

**  Sensible  as  I  am  to  my  loss,  it  will  occupy  but  part 
of  my  thoughts,  till  I  know  you  safely  landed,  and 
arrived  safely  at  Turin.  Not  till  you  are  there,  and  I 
learn  so,  will  my  anxiety  subside  and  settle  into  steady, 
selfish  sorrow.  I  looked  at  every  weathercock  as  I 
came  along  the  road  to-day,  and  was  happy  to  see 
everyone  point  north-east.  May  they  do  so  to- 
morrow ! 

"  I  found  here  the  frame  for  Wolsey,*  and  to-morrow 
morning  Kirgatet  will  place  him  in  it ;  and  then  I  shall 
begin  pulling  the  little  parlour  to  pieces,  that  it  may  be 
hung  anew  to  receive  him.  I  have  also  obeyed  Miss 
Agnes,  though  with  regret ;  for,  on  trying  it,  I  found 
her  Arcadia  would  fit  the  place  of  the  picture  she  con- 
demned, which  shall  therefore  be  hung  in  its  room  ; 
though  the  latter  should  give  way  to  nothing  else,  nor 
shall  be  laid  aside,  but  shall  hang  where  I  shall  see  it 
almost  as  often.  I  long  to  hear  that  its  dear  paintress 
is  well ;  I  thought  her  not  at  all  so  last  night.  You 
will  tell  me  the  truth,  though  she  in  her  own 
case,  and  in  that  alone,  allows  herself  mental  reserva- 
tion. 

"  Forgive  me  for  waiting  nothing  to-night  but  about 
you  two  and  myself.  Of  what  can  I  have  thought  else  ? 
I   have   not   spoken  to  a  single   person  but   my   own 

*  A  drawing  by  Miss  Agnes  Berry. 
t  His  secretary. 

I7-G 


2  6o  FareivelL  Letter. 

servants  since  we  parted  last  night.     I  found  a  message 
here  from  Miss  Howe*  to  invite  me  for  this  evening. 
Do  you  think  I  have  not  preferred  staying  at  home  to 
write  to  you,  as  this  must  go  to   London  to-morrow 
morning  by  the  coach  to  be  ready  for  Tuesday's  post  ? 
Wy  future  letters  shall  talk  of  other  things,  whenever  I 
know  anything  worth  repeating  ;  or  perhaps  any  trifle, 
for  I  am  determined  to  forbid  myself  lamentations  that 
would  weary  you ;  and  the  frequency  of  my  letters  will 
prove  there  is  no  forgetfulness.     If  I  live  to  see  you 
again,  you  will  then  judge  whether  I  am  changed ;  but 
a  friendship  so  rational  and  so  pure  as  mine  is,  and  so 
equal  for  both,  is  not  likely  to  have  any  of  the  fickleness 
of  youth,  when  it  has  none  of  its  other  ingredients.     It 
was  a  sweet  consolation  to  the  short  time  that  I  may 
have  left,  to  fall  into  such  a  society ;  no  wonder  then 
that  I  am  unhappy  at  that  consolation  being  abridged. 
I  pique  myself  on  no  philosophy,  but  what  a  long  use 
and  knowledge  of  the  world  had  given  me — the  philo- 
sophy of  indifference  to  most  persons  and  events.     I  do 
pique  myself  on  not  being  ridiculous  at  this  very  late 
period   of  my  life ;    but  when  there  is  not  a  grain  of 
passion  in  my  affection  for  you  two,  and  when  you  both 
have  the  good  sense  not  to  be  displeased  at  my  telling 
you  so,  (though  I  hope  you  would  have  despised  me  for 
the  contrary,)  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  your  loss  is 
heavy  to  me ;  and  that  I  am  only  reconciled  to  it  by 
hoping  that  a  v.inter  in  Italy,  and  the  journeys  and  sea 

*  An  unmarried  sister  of  the  first  Earl  Hcwe,  who  then  lived 
at  Richmond, 


Fa  reive  II  Letter.  261 

air,  will  be  very  beneficial  to  two  constitutions  so  deli- 
cate as  yours.  Adieu  !  my  dearest  friends.  It  would 
be  tautology  to  subscribe  a  name  to  a  letter,  every  line 
of  which  would  suit  no  other  man  in  the  world  but  the 
writer." 


262  ^ove  of  English  Scenery. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Walpoie's  love  of  English  Scenery. — Richmond  Hili.— Euike  on 
the  French  Revolution.— The  Berrys  at  Florence. — Death  of 
George  Selwyn.— London  Solitude. — Repairs  at  Cliveden. — 
Burke  and  Fox.— The  Countess  of  Albany.— Journal  of  a  Day.— 
Mrs.  Hobart's  Party.— Ancient  Trade  with  India.— Lady  Hamil- 
ton.—A  Boat  Race.— RetL'rn  of  the  Berrys.— Horace  succeeds 
to  the  Peerage. — Epitaphium  Vivi  Auctoris. — His  Wives. — 
Mary  Berry.— Closing  Years. — Love  of  Moving  Objects. — Visit 
from  Queen  Charlotte. — Death  of  Con-.vay. — Final  Illness  of 
Horace. — His  Last  Letter. 

It  cannot,  we  fear,  be  said  with  truth  that  Walpolc 
had  much  eye  for  the  greater  beauties  of  nature. 
When  he  recalls  the  travels  of  his  youth,  it  is  on  the 
Gallery  at  Florence  and  the  Fair  of  Reggio  that  his 
memory  dwells,  rather  than  on  his  ride  to  the  Grande 
Chartreuse  or  his  visit  to  Naples.  But  of  the  modest 
charms  of  English  scenery  he  had  a  real  and  thorough 
enjoyment.  The  enthusiasm  expressed  in  his  Essay 
on  "•  Modern  Gardening "  has  a  more  genuine  ring- 
about  it  than  is  often  found  in  his  writings.  In  read- 
ing it,  one  does  not  doubt  that  his  praises  of  "  the  rich 
blue  prospects  of  Kent,  the  Thames-watered  views  in 
Berkshire,  and  the  magnificent  scale  of  nature  in  York- 
shire," were  something  more  than  compliments  to 
friends  who  happened  to  have  seats  in  those  districts. 


Richmond  Hill.  26 


o 


Yet  there  was  one  spot  which  he  admired  more  than 
even  these  captivating  scenes.  At  the  bottom  of  his 
heart,  he  was  persuaded  that  no  stream  in  the  world 
could  compare  with  his  own  reaches  of  the  Thames, 
nor  any  mountain  or  hill  with  Richmond  Hill.  And 
what  he  believed  in  his  heart,  he  was  not  always  slow 
to  proclaim  with  mouth  and  pen.  Thus  in  describing 
the  effects  of  a  tempest,  he  writes  :  "  The  greatest  ruin 
is  at  my  nephew  Dysart's  at  Ham,  where  five-and- 
thirty  of  the  old  elms  are  blown  down.  I  think  it  is  no 
loss,  as  I  hope  now  one  shall  see  the  river  from  the 
house.  He  never  would  cut  a  twig  to  see  the  most 
beautiful  scene  upon  earth."  Again,  after  visiting 
Oatlands,  then  recently  purchased  by  the  Duke  of 
York,  Horace  sa5'S :  "  I  am  returned  to  my  own 
Thames  with  delight,  and  envy  none  of  the  princes  of 
the  earth."  He  sneers  bitterly  at  Mr.  Gilpin,  who 
"  despised  the  richness,  verdure,  amenit}^  of  Richmond 
Hill,  when  he  had  seen  rocks  and  lakes  in  the  north  ; 
for  size  and  distance  of  place  add  wonderfully  to  loveli- 
ness." And  when  he  is  trj-ing  to  coax  his  Straw-Berries 
liome  from  Florence,  he  tells  them  there  is  not  an  acre 
on  the  banks  of  the  Thames  that  should  vail  the  bonnet 
to  Boboli.  With  the  exception  of  an  occasional  visit 
paid  during  the  absence  of  these  ladies  to  Conway 
at  Henley,  the  six  last  summers  and  autumns  of 
Walpole's  life  seem  to  have  been  spent  almost  un- 
interruptedly at  Twickenham.  Some  little  time  after 
Mrs.  Clive's  death,  Cliveden,  or  Little  Strawberry  Hill, 
was  let  for  a  short  time  to  Sir  Robert  Goodere:  but  it 


564  Burkes  Reflect  ions. 

seems  that,  before  his  young  friends  left  England, 
Horace  had  determined,  on  their  return,  to  give  Miss 
Berry  and  her  sister  this  house  for  their  lives,  that  he 
might  have  them  constantly  near  him.  The  design 
succeeded.  Mary  and  Agnes  became  attached  to  the 
place ;  it  continued  to  be  their  country  residence  for 
many  years  ;  and  when,  after  surviving  their  aged  ad- 
mirer for  more  than  half  a  centur}',  they  died,  both 
unmarried,  within  a  few  months  of  each  other,  they  were 
buried  in  one  grave  in  Petersham  churchyard,  opposite 
Twickenham,  "amidst  scenes,"  as  their  epitaph  records, 
"  which  in  life  they  had  frequented  and  loved." 

After  despatching  the  farewell  letter  given  at  the  end 
of  our  last  chapter,  Walpole  lingered  at  Strawberry  Hill, 
consoling  himself  with  the  society  of  Richmond,  and 
with  Burke's  "  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in 
France."  The  shock  of  that  earthquake  had  already 
made  him  half  a  Tory,  and  he  welcomed  the  great 
orator's  declamation  with  delight.  "  His  pamphlet," 
he  tells  Miss  Berry,  "  came  out  this  day  se'nnight,  and 
is  far  superior  to  what  was  expected,  even  by  his 
warmest  admirers.  I  have  read  it  twice,  and  though 
of  three  hundred  and  fifty  pages,  I  wish  I  could  repeat 
every  page  by  heart.  It  is  sublime,  profound,  and 
gay.  The  wit  and  satire  are  equally  brilliant ;  and  the 
whole  is  wise,  though  in  some  points  he  goes  too  far  ; 
yet  in  general  there  is  far  less  want  of  judgment  than 
could  be  expected  from  him.  If  it  could  be  translated, 
which,  from  the  wit  and  metaphors  and  allusions,  is 
almost  impossible,  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  classic 


The  Berrys  at  Florence.  265 

book  in  all  countries,  except  in  present  France.  To 
their  tribunes  it  speak  daggers  ;  though,  unlike  them, 
it  uses  none.  Seven  thousand  copies  have  been  taken 
off  by  the  booksellers  already,  and  a  new  edition  is 
preparing.  I  hope  you  will  see  it  soon."  In  a  subse- 
quent letter  to  both  his  favourites,  dated  Strawberry 
Hill,  Nov.  27,  1790,  he  says  :  "I  am  still  here :  the 
weather,  though  very  rainy,  is  quite  warm ;  and  I  have 
much  more  agreeable  society  at  Richmond,  with  small 
companies  and  better  hours,  than  in  town,  and  shall 
have  till  after  Christmas,  unless  great  cold  drives  me 
thither."  Two  days  later,  having  heard  of  the  arrival 
of  the  Berrys  at  Florence,  he  writes  to  Agnes  : 

"  Though  I  write  to  both  at  once,  and  reckon  your 
letters  to  come  equally  from  both,  yet  I  delight  in 
seeing  your  hand  with  a  pen  as  well  as  with  a  pencil, 
and  you  express  yourself  as  well  with  the  one  as  with 
the  other.  Your  part  in  that  which  I  have  been  so 
happy  as  to  receive  this  moment,  has  singularly  obliged 
me,  by  your  having  saved  me  the  terror  of  knowing  you 
had  a  torrent  to  cross  after  heavy  rain.  No  cat  is  so 
afraid  of  water  for  herself,  as  I  am  grovvn  to  be  for  you- 
That  panic,  which  will  last  for  many  months,  adds  to 
my  fervent  desire  of  your  returning  early  in  the  autumn, 
that  you  may  have  neither  fresh  water  nor  the  '  silky  ' 
ocean  to  cross  in  v>'inter.  Precious  as  our  insular 
situation  is,  I  am  ready  to  wish  with  the  Frenchman, 
that  you  could  somehow  or  other  get  to  it  by  land, — 
*  Oui,  c'est  une  isle  toujours,  je  le  scais  bien  ;  mais,  par 


265  Death  of  Selwyn. 

example,  en  allant  d'alentour,  n'y  curoit-il  pas  moyen 
d'y  arriver  par  terra  ?'  .  .  . 

"  Richmond,  my  metropolis,  flourishes  exceedingly. 
The  Duke  of  Clarence  arrived  at  his  palace  there  last 
night,  between  eleven  and  twelve,  as  I  came  from  Lady 
Douglas.  His  eldest  brother  and  Mrs.  Fitzherbeit 
dine  there  to-day  with  the  Duke  of  Queensberry,  as  his 
Grace,  who  called  here  this  morning,  told  me,  on  the 
very  spot  where  lived  Charles  the  First,  and  where  are 
the  portraits  of  his  principal  courtiers  from  Cornbur}', 
Queensberry  has  taken  to  that  palace  at  last,  and  has 
frequently  company  and  music  there  in  an  evening. 
I  intend  to  go." 

He  was  detained  in  the  country  longer  than  he  had 
intended  by  an  attack  of  gout  ;  on  his  return  to  town 
he  announces  his  recovery  to  Lady  Ossory. 

"Berkeley  Square,  Jan.  28,  1791. 
"  You  and  Lord  Ossory  have  been  so  very  good  to 
me,  Madam,  that  I  must  pay  you  the  first  tribute  of 
my  poor  reviving  fingers — I  believe  they  never  will  be 
their  own  men  again  ;  but  as  they  have  lived  so  long  in 
your  Ladyship's  service,  they  shall  show  their  attach- 
ment to  the  last,  hke  Widdrington  on  his  stumps.  I 
have  had  another  and  grievous  memento,  the  death  of 
poor  Selwyn  !  His  end  was  lovel}',  most  composed  and 
rational.  From  eight  years  old  I  had  known  him  inti- 
mately without  a  cloud  between  us ;  few  knew  him  so 
well,  and  consequently  few  knew  so  well  the  goodness 
of  his  heart  and  nature.     But  I  will  say  no  more — Mg'.i 


London  Solitude.  267 

Chancclier  vous  dira  Ic  rcste.^- — No,  my  chancellor  shall 
put  an  end  to  the  session,  only  concluding,  as  Lord 
Bacon  would  have  done  for  King  James,  with  an 
apologue,  *  His  Majesty's  recovery  has  turned  the 
corner,  and  exceeding  the  old  fable,  has  proved  that  the 
stomach  can  do  better  without  the  limbs  than  they 
could  without  him.'" 

About  the  same  date  he  describes  his  life  in  London 
to  the  Berrys: 

**  I  wish  that  complaining  of  people  for  abandoning  me 
were  an  infallible  recipe  for  bringing  them  back !  but  I 
doubt  it  will  not  do  in  acute  cases.  To-day,  a  few 
hours  after  writing  the  latter  part  of  this,  appeared  Mr. 
Batt.t  He  asked  many  pardons,  and  I  easily  forgave 
him ;  for  the  mortification  was  not  begun.  He  asked 
much  after  you  both.  I  had  a  crowd  of  visits  besides  ; 
but  they  all  come  past  two  o'clock,  and  sweep  one 
another  away  before  any  can  take  root.  My  evenings 
are  solitary  enough,  for  I  ask  nobody  to  come  ;  nor, 
indeed,  does  anybody's  evening  begin  till  I  am  going  to 
bed.  I  have  outlived  daylight  as  well  as  my  contem- 
poraries. What  have  I  not  survived?  The  Jesuits  and 
the  monarch}'  of  France  !  and  both  without  a  struggle  ! 
Semiramis  seems  to  intend  to  add  Constantinople  to 
the  mass  of  revolutions;  but  is  not  her  permanence 
almost  as  wonderful  as  the  contrary  explosions !  I 
wish — I  wish  we  may  not  be  actually  flippancying  cur- 
Here  begins  Kirgate's  handwriting  in  the  MS. 

t  A  friend  of  the  Berrys.  He  was  then  one  of  the  Conimissioners 
lor  /auditing  the  Public  Accounts. 


2  68  Repairs  at  Cliveden. 

selves  into  an  embroil  with  that  Ursa-major  of  the 
North  Pole.  What  a  vixen  little  island  are  we,  if  \\c 
light  with  the  Aurora  Borealis  and  Tippoo  Saib  at  the 
end  of  Asia  at  the  same  time !  You,  damsels,  will  be 
like  the  end  of  the  conundrum, 

" '  You've  seen  the  man  wlio  saw  these  wondrous  sights.' 

"  I  cannot  finish  this  with  my  own  hand,  for  the  gout 
has  returned  a  little  into  my  right  arm  and  wrist,  and  I 
tim  not  quite  so  well  as  I  was  yesterday ;  but  I  had 
said  my  say,  and  have  little  to  add.  The  Duchess  of 
Gordon,  t'other  night,  coming  out  of  an  assembly,  said 
to  Dundas,  '  Mr.  Dundas,  you  are  used  to  speak  in 
public;  will  you  call  my  servant  ?*  .  .  .  Adieu!  I  will 
begin  to  write  again  myself  as  soon  as  I  can." 

In  the  middle  of  March  he  wrote  from  Strawberry 
Hill  to  Miss  Berry  :  "  As  I  have  mended  considerably 
for  the  last  four  days,  and  as  we  have  had  a  fortnight 
of  soft  warm  weather,  and  a  south-west  wind  to  da}',  I 
have  ventured  hither  for  a  change  of  air,  and  to  give 
orders  about  some  repairs  at  Cliveden  ;  which,  by  the 
way,  Mr.  Henry  Bunbury,  two  days  ago,  proposed  to 
take  off  my  hands  for  his  life.  I  really  do  not  think  I 
accepted  his  offer."  All  the  spring  he  vibrates  between 
London  and  Twickenham.  He  writes  again  from  the 
latter  place  to  ]\Iiss  Berry  towards  the  end  of  April : 

"  To-day,  when  the  town   is  staring  at  the  sudden 

resignation  of  the  Duke  of  Leeds,*  asking  the  reason, 

^  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs,  He  was  succeeded  in 
the  office  by  Lord  Grenville. 


Burke  and  Fox.  269 

and  gaping  to  know  who  will  succeed  him,  I  am  come 
hither  with  an  indifference  that  might  pass  for  philo- 
sophy ;  as  the  true  cause  is  not  known,  which  it  seldom 
is.  Don't  tell  Europe  ;  but  I  really  am  come  to  look  at 
the  repairs  of  Cliveden,  and  how  they  go  on;  not  with- 
out an  eye  to  the  lilacs  and  the  apple-blossoms  :  for  even 
self  can  find  a  corner  to  wriggle  into,  though  friendship 
may  fit  out  the  vessel.  Mr.  Berry  may,  perhaps,  wish  I 
had  more  political  curiosity ;  but  as  I  must  return 
to  town  on  Monday  for  Lord  Cholmondeley's  wedding, 
I  may  hear  before  the  departure  of  the  post,  if  the  seals 
are  given." 

Among  the  letters  written  to  Miss  Berry  from  town 
during  this  season,  one  gives  an  account  of  the  famous 
quarrel  between  Burke  and  Fox  in  the  House  of 
Commons : 

"  Mr.  Fox  had  most  imprudently  thrown  out  a 
panegyric  on  the  French  Revolution.  His  most  con- 
siderable friends  were  much  hurt,  and  protested  to  him 
against  such  sentiments.  Burke  went  much  farther, 
and  vowed  to  attack  these  opinions.  Great  pains  were 
taken  to  prevent  such  altercation,  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales  is  said  to  have  WTitten  a  dissuasive  letter  to 
Burke ;  but  he  was  immovable ;  and  on  Friday,  on  the 
Quebec  Bill,  he  broke  out,  and  sounded  a  trumpet 
against  the  plot,  which  he  denounced  as  carrying  on 
here.  Prodigious  clamours  and  interruption  arose  from 
Mr.  Fox's  friends  ;  but  he,  though  still  applauding  the 
French,  burst  into  tears  and  lamentations  on  the  loss  of 
Burke's  friendship,    and  endeavoured  to  make  atone- 


2  70 


Burke  and  Fox. 


ment ;  but  in  vain,  though  Burke  wept  too.  In  short, 
it  was  the  most  affecting  scene  possible ;  and  un- 
doubtedly an  unique  one,  for  both  the  commanders  were 
earnest  and  sincere.'-^  Yesterday,  a  second  act  was 
expected ;  but  mutual  friends  prevailed,  that  the  con- 
test should  not  be  renewed  :  na}^  on  the  same  Bill,  Mr. 
Fox  made  a  profession  of  his  faith,  and  declared  he 
would  venture  his  life  in  support  of  the  present  constitu- 
tion by  Kings,  Lords,  and  Commons.  In  short,  I  never 
knew  a  wiser  dissertation,  if  the  newspapers  deliver  it 
justly ;  and  I  think  all  the  writers  in  England  cannot 
give  more  profound  sense  to  Mr,  Fox  than  he  possesses. 
I  know  no  more  particulars,  having  seen  nobody  this 
morning  yet." 

Another  refers  to  the  trial  of  Hastings,  and  sundry 
matters  of  public  interest : 

*  The  following  anecdote,  connected  with  this  memorable  even- 
ing, is  related  by  Mr.  Curwen,  at  that  time  member  for  Carlisle,  in 
his  "Travels  in  Ireland  :" — "The  most  powerful  feehngs  were 
manifested  on  the  adjournment  of  the  House.  While  I  was  wait- 
ing for  my  carriage,  Mr.  Burke  came  to  me  and  requested,  as  the 
n:ght  was  wet,  I  would  set  him  down.  As  soon  as  the  carriage- 
door  was  shut,  he  complimented  me  on  my  being  no  friend  to  the 
revo  utionary  doctrines  of  the  French  ;  on  which  he  spoke  with 
great  warmth  for  a  few  minutes,  when  he  paused  to  afford  me  an 
opportunity  of  approving  the  view  he  had  taken  of  those  measures 
in  the  House.  At  the  moment  I  could  not  help  feeling  disinclined  to 
disguise  my  sentiments  :  Mr.  Burke,  catching  hold  of  the  check- 
string,  furiously  exclaimed,  '  You  are  one  of  these  people  !  set  me 
down  !'  With  some  difficulty  I  restrained  him  ; — we  had  then 
reached  Charing  Cross  :  a  silence  ensued,  which  was  preserved  till 
we  reached  his  house  in  Gerard  Street,  when  he  hurried  cut  of  the 
cariuige  without  speaking." 


The  Countess  of  Albany,  271 

'*  After  several  weeks  spent  in  search  of  precedents 
for  trials*  ceasing  or  not  on  a  dissolution  of  Parliament, 
the  Peers  on  Monday  sat  till  three  in  the  morning  on 
the  report ;  when  the  Chancellor  and  Lord  Hawkes- 
bury  fought  for  the  cessation,  but  were  beaten  by  a 
large  majority;  which  showed  that  Mr.  Pitt  has  more 
weight  (at  present)  in  that  House  too,  than — the  dia- 
monds of  Bengal.  Lord  Hawkesbur}^  protested.  The 
trial  recommences  on  Monday  next,  and  has  already 
cost  the  public  fourteen  thousand  pounds  ;  the  accused, 
I  suppose,  much  more. 

"  The  Countess  of  Albany t  is  not  only  in  England,  in 
London,  but  at  this  very  moment,  I  believe,  in  the 
palace  of  St.  James's — not  restored  by  as  rapid  a  revolu- 
tion as  the  French,  but,  as  was  observed  last  night  at 
supper  at  Lady  Mount-Edgcumbe's,  by  that  topsy- 
turvy-hood that  characterises  the  present  age.  Within 
these  two  months  the  Pope  has  been  burnt  at  Paris  ; 
Madame  du  Barr}^,  mistress  of  Louis  Quinze,  has  dined 
with  the  Lord  Ma3'or  of  London,  and  the  Pretender's 
widow  is  presented  to  the  Queen  of  Great  Britain  !  She 
is  to  be  introduced  by  her  great-grandfather's  niece,  the 
young  Countess  of  Aylesbury.  That  curiosity  should 
bring  her  hither,  I  do  not  quite  wonder — still  less,  that 

*  He  means  impeachments. 
Louisa  Jtlaximiiiana  de  Stolberg  Goedern,  wife  of  the  Pre- 
tender. After  the  death  of  Charles  Edward  in  1788,  she  travelled 
in  Italy  and  France,  and  lived  with  her  favourite,  the  celebrated 
Alfieri,  to  whom  she  is  stated  to  have  been  privately  married.  She 
continued  to  reside  at  Paris,  until  the  progress  of  the  revolution 
compelled  her  to  take  refuge  in  England, 


2/2  The  Countess  of  Albany. 

she  abhorred  her  husband  ;  but  methinks  it  is  not  very 
well-bred  to  his  family,  nor  very  sepsible  ;  but  a  new 
way  of  passing  eldest.* 

"  Thursday  night. 

"  Well  !  I  have  had  an  exact  account  of  the  inter- 
view of  the  two  Queens,  from  one  who  stood  close  to 
them.  The  Dowager  was  announced  as  Princess  of 
Stolberg.  She  was  well-dressed,  and  not  at  all  em- 
barrassed. The  King  talked  to  her  a  good  deal ;  but 
about  her  passage,  the  sea,  and  general  topics :  the 
Queen  in  the  same  way,  but  less.  Then  she  stood 
between  the  Dukes  of  Gloucester  and  Clarence,  and 
had  a  good  deal  of  conversation  with  the  former  ;  who, 
perhaps,  may  have  met  her  in  Italy.  Not  a  word  be- 
tween her  and  the  Princesses ;  nor  did  I  hear  of  the 
Prince ;  but  he  was  there,  and  probably  spoke  to  her. 
The  Queen  looked  at  her  earnestly.  To  add  to  the 
singularity  of  the  day,  it  is  the  Queen's  birth-day. 
Another  odd  accident :  at  the  Opera  at  the  Pantheon, 
Madame  d'Albany  was  carried  into  the  King's  box,  and 
sat  there.  It  is  not  of  a  piece  with  her  going  to  Court, 
that  she  seals  with  the  royal  arms.  .  .  , 

"  Boswell  has  at  last  published  his  long-promised 
*  Life  of  Dr.  Johnson,'  in  two  volumes  in  quarto.  I 
will  give  you  an  account  of  it  when  I  have  gone  through 
it.  I  have  already  perceived,  that  in  writing  the  histor}' 
of  Hudibras,  Ralpho  has  not  forgot  himself — nor  will 
others,  I  believe,  forget  him!"' 

The  next  is  also  to  Miss  Berry  .- 
*  A  loo  phiaic. 


Journal  of  a  Day.  273 

"Berkeley  Square,  May  26,  1791. 

**  I  am  rich  in  letters  from  you :  I  received  that  b}' 
Lord  Elgin's  courier  first,  as  you  expected,  and  its  elder 
the  next  day.  You  tell  me  mine  entertain  you  ;  tant 
micux.  It  is  my  wish,  but  my  wonder;  for  I  live  so 
little  in  the  world,  that  I  do  not  know  the  present 
generation  by  sight :  for,  though  I  pass  by  them  in  the 
streets,  the  hats  with  valences,  the  folds  above  the  chin 
of  the  ladies,  and  the  dirty  shirts  and  shaggy  hair  of  the 
young  men,  who  have  levelled  nobility  almost  as  much 
as  the  mobility  of  France  have,  have  confounded  all 
individuality.  Besides,  if  I  did  go  to  public  places  and 
assemblies,  which  my  going  to  roost  earlier  prevents, 
the  bats  and  owls  do  not  begin  to  fly  abroad  till  far  in 
the  night,  when  they  begin  to  see  and  be  seen.  How- 
ever, one  of  the  empresses  of  fashion,  the  Duchess  of 
Gordon,  uses  fifteen  or  sixteen  hours  of  her  four-and- 
twenty.  I  heard  her  journal  of  last  Monday.  She 
first  went  to  Handel's  music  in  the  Abbey  ;  she  then 
clambered  over  the  benches,  and  went  to  Hastings's 
trial  in  the  Hall;  after  dinner,  to  the  play;  then  to 
Lady  Lucan's  assembly ;  after  that  to  Ranelagh,  and 
returned  to  Mrs.  Hobart's  faro-table ;  gave  a  ball  her- 
self in  the  evening  of  that  morning,  into  which  she 
must  have  got  a  good  way  ;  and  set  out  for  Scotland  the 
next  day.  Hercules  could  not  have  achieved  a  quarter 
of  her  labours  in  the  same  space  of  time." 

Before  the  middle  of  June  he  is  settled  at  Twiclien- 
ham.     He  condoles  with  the  Berrys  : 


2/4  J\Irs.  HobarCs  Party. 

"Strawberry  Hill,  June  14,  1791. 
"  I  pity  you  !  what  a  dozen  or  fifteen  uninterestin.cj 
letters  are  you  going  to  receive  !  for  here  I  am,  unhkely 
to  have  anything  to  tell  you  worth  sending.  You  had 
better  come  back  incontinently — but  pray  do  not  pro- 
phesy any  more ;  you  have  been  the  death  of  our 
summer,  and  we  are  in  close  mourning  for  it  in  coals 
and  ashes.  It  froze  hard  last  night :  I  went  out  for  a 
moment  to  look  at  my  haymakers,  and  was  starved. 
The  contents  of  an  English  June  are,  hay  and  ice, 
orange-flowers  and  rheumatisms  !  I  am  now  cowering 
over  the  fire.  Mrs.  Hobart  had  announced  a  rural 
breakfast  at  Sans-Souci  last  Saturday  ;  nothing  being 
so  pastoral  as  a  fat  grandmother  in  a  row  of  houses  on 
Ham  Comnion.  It  rained  early  in  the  morning :  slie 
despatched  post-boys,  for  want  of  Cupids  and  zephyrs, 
to  stop  the  nymphs  and  shepherds  who  tend  their 
flocks  in  Pall  l^Iall  and  St.  James's  Street ;  but  half  of 
them  missed  the  couriers  and  arrived.  Mrs.  Montagu 
was  more  splendid  yesterday  m.orning,  and  breakfasted 
seven  hundred  persons  on  opening  her  great  room,  and 
the  room  with  the  hangings  of  feathers.*  The  King 
and  Queen  had  been  with  her  last  week.  I  should  like 
to  have  heard  the  orations  she  had  prepared  on  the 
occasion.  I  was  neither  City-mouse  nor  Country- 
mouse.  I  did  dine  at  Fulham  on  Saturday  with  the 
Bishop  of  London    [Porteus].     Mrs.  Boscawen,   Mrs. 

*  "  There  [at  the  opening  of  Hastings's  trial]  were  the 
members  of  that  brilliant  society  which  quoted,  criticised,  and 
exchanged  repartees,  under  the  rich  peacock-hangings  of  Mrs. 
Montagu." — Macaulafs  Essay  on  "  IVanen  Hasiin^s!'' 


tJw^^z,  t  i^ync^ce^- 


11  .    •    /if'/t/ffn/f 


/0<.afiAa^y^nU^:t 


.  j\Irs,  Hob  art's  Party.  275 

Garrick,  and  Hannah  More  were  there ;  and  Dr. 
Beattie,  M-hom  I  had  never  seen.  He  is  quiet,  simple, 
and  cheerful,  and  pleased  me.  There  ends  my  tale, 
this  instant  Tuesday  !  How  shall  I  fill  a  couple  of 
pages  more  by  Friday  morning  !  Oh  !  ye  ladies  on  the 
Common,  and  ye  uncommon  ladies  in  London,  have 
pity  on  a  poor  gazetteer,  and  supply  me  \vith  eclogues 
or  royal  panegyrics  I  Moreover — or  rather  more  under 
— I  have  had  no  letter  from  you  these  ten  days,  though 
the  east  wind  has  been  as  constant  as  Lord  Derby.*  I 
say  not  this  in  reproach,  as  you  are  so  kindly  punctual ; 
but  as  it  stints  me  from  having  a  single  paragraph 
to  answer.  I  do  not  admire  specific  responses  ta 
every  article ;  but  they  are  great  resources  on  a 
dearth. 

**  Madame  de  Boufflers  is  ill  of  a  fever,  and  the 
Duchesse  de  Biron  goes  next  week  to  Switzerland ; — 
mais  qu'esique  cela  vous  fait  ?" 

"June  23,  1 79 1. 

"  Woe  is  me !  I  have  not  an  atom  of  news  to  send  you, 
but  that  the  second  edition  of  Mother  Hubbard's  Talc 
[Mrs.  Hobart's  party]  was  again  spoiled  on  Saturday 
last  by  the  rain  ;  yet  she  had  an  ample  assemblage  of 
company  from  London  and  the  neighbourhood.  The 
late  Queen  of  France,  Madame  du  Barr}^  was  there ; 
and  the  late  Queen  of  England,  Madame  d'Albany, 
was  not.  The  former,  they  say,  is  as  much  altered  as 
her  kingdom,  and  does  not  retain  a  trace  of  her  former 

*  To  Miss  Farren. 

18—2 


2/6  Ancient   Trade  with  India. 

powers.  I  saw  her  on  a  throne  in  the  chapel  of  Ver- 
sailles ;  and  though  then  pleasing  in  face  and  person,  I 
thought  her  uyi  pen  pnsscc. 

**What  shall  I  tell  30U  more?  that  Lord  Hawkes- 
bury  is  added  to  the  Cabinet-Council — que  vousimportc? 
and  that  Dr.  Robertson  has  published  a  '  Disquisition 
into  the  Trade  of  the  Ancients  with  India ;'  a  sensible 
work — but  that  will  be  no  news  to  you  till  you  return. 
It  was  a  peddling  trade  in  those  days.  They  now  and 
then  picked  up  an  elephant's  tooth,  or  a  nutmeg,  or 
one  pearl,  that  served  Venus  for  a  pair  of  pendants, 
when  Antony  had  toasted  Cleopatra  in  a  bumper  of  its 
fellow  ;  which  shows  that  a  couple  was  imported  :  but, 
alack !  the  Romans  w'ere  so  ignorant,  that  waiters  from 
the  Tres  Tabernas,  in  St.  Apollo's  Street,  did  not 
carry  home  sacks  of  diamonds  enough  to  pave  the 
Capitol — I  hate  exaggerations,  and  therefore  I  do  not 
say,  to  pave  the  Appian  Way.  One  author,  I  think, 
doss  say,  that  the  wife  of  Fabius  Pictor,  whom  he  sold 
to  a  Proconsul,  did  present  Livia*  with  an  ivory  bed, 
inlaid  with.  Indian  gold  ;  but,  as  Dr  Robertson  does 
not  mention  it,  to  be  sure  he  does  not  believe  the  fact 
well  authenticated." 

In  one  of  our  last  extracts,  Walpole  refers  to  some 
of  the  Fren  ch  exiles,  who  were  now  assembled  in  large 
numbers  at  Richmond.     Shortly  afterwards  came  the 

*  This  alludes  to  the  stones  told  at  the  time  of  an  ivory  bed,  in- 
laid wiih  gold,  havin,^  been  presented  to  Oaeen  Charlotte  by  Mrs. 
Hastings,  the  wife  of  the  Governor-General  of  India. 


Lady  HaviiUon.  277 

news  of  the  escape  and  recapture  of  the  French  Kin^ 
and  Queen.  Horace  writes,  "  I  have  been  very  much 
with  the  wretched  fugitives  at  Richmond.  To  them  it 
is  perfect  despair ;  besides  trembhng  for  their  friends 
at  Paris  !'  Nevertheless,  their  distresses  did  not 
prevent  them  from  t'^.king  part  in  the  gaieties  of 
Richmond  : 

"  Lorkeley  Square,  Tuesday,  Aug.  23,  179T. 

**  On  Saturday  evening  I  was  at  the  Duke  of 
Queensberry's  (at  Richmond,  s'cntcnd)  with  a  small 
company :  and  there  were  Sir  William  Hamilton 
and  Mrs.  Harte  ;*  who,  on  the  3rd  of  next  month, 
previous  to  their  departure,  is  to  be  made  Madame 
I'Envoyee  a  Naples,  the  Neapolitan  Queen  having  pro- 
mised to  receive  her  in  that  quality.  Here  she  cannot 
be  presented,  where  only  such  over-virtuous  wives  as 
the  Duchess  of  Kingston  and  Mrs.  Hastings — who 
could  go  with  a  husband  in  each  hand — are  admitted. 
Why  the  Margravine  of  Anspach,  with  the  same  pre- 
tensions, was  not,  I  do  not  understand  ;  perhaps  she 
did  not  attempt  it.  But  I  forget  to  retract,  and  make 
amende  honorable  to  Mrs.  Harte.  I  had  only  heard  of 
her  attitudes ;  and  those,  in  dumb  show,  I  have  not 
yet  seen.  Oh !  but  she  sings  admirably  ;  has  a  very 
fine,  strong  voice ;  is  an  excellent  buffa,  and  an 
astonishing  tragedian.  She  sung  Nina  in  the  highest 
perfection ;  and  there  her  attitudes  were  a  whole 
theatre  of  grace  and  various  expressions. 

*  Shortly  afterwards  Lady  Hamilton — Nelson's  Lady  Hamilton. 


27S  A  Boat  Race. 

"  The  next  evening  I  was  again  at  Queensberry 
House,  where  the  Comtesse  Emilie  de  Boufflers  played 
on  her  harp,  and  the  Princesse  di  Castelcigala,  the  Nea- 
pohtan  minister's  wife,  danced  one  of  her  country 
dances,  with  castanets,  very  prettily,  with  her  husband. 
Madame  du  Barry  was  there  too,  and  I  had  a  good 
deal  of  frank  conversation  with  her  about  Monsieur  de 
Choiseul ;  having  been  at  Paris  at  the  end  of  his  reign 
and  at  the  beginning  of  hers,  and  of  which  I  knew  so 
much  by  my  intimacy  with  the  Duchesse  de  Choiseul. 

*'On  Monday  was  the  boat-race.  I  was  in  tl.c 
great  room  at  the  Castle,  with  the  Duke  of  Clarence, 
Lady  Di,  Lord  Robert  Spencer,  and  the  House  of 
Bouverie,  to  see  the  boats  start  from  the  bridge  to 
Thistleworth,  and  back  to  a  tent  erected  on  Lord 
Dysart's  meadow,  just  before  Lady  Di.'s  windows; 
\\hither  we  went  to  see  them  arrive,  and  where  we  had 
breakfast.  For  the  second  heat,  I  sat  in  my  coach  on 
the  bridge  ;  and  did  not  stay  for  the  third.  The  day 
had  been  coined  on  purpose,  with  my  favourite  south- 
east wind.  The  scene,  both  up  the  river  and  down, 
was  what  only  Richmond  upon  earth  can  exhibit. 
Tlie  crowds  on  those  green  velvet  meadows  and  on  the 
shores,  the  yachts,  barges,  pleasure  and  small  boats, 
and  the  windows  and  gardens  lined  with  spectators, 
were  so  delightful,  that  when  I  came  home  from  that 
vivid  show,  I  thought  Strawberry  looked  as  dull  and 
solitary  as  a  hermitage.  At  night  there  was  a  ball  at 
the  Castle,  and  illuminations,  with  the  Duke's  cypher, 
etc.,   in   coloured  lamps,   as  Vvcve    the    houses    of    his 


Return  of  the  Berry s,  279 

Royal  HIghness's  tradesmen.  I  went  again  in  the 
evening  to  the  French  ladies  on  the  Green,  where 
there  was  a  bonfire  ;  but,  you  may  believe,  not  to  the 
ball." 


At  the  end  of  September,  Walpole  writes  to  Hannah 
More  : 

"  I  thank  you  most  cordially  for  your  inquiry  after 
my  wives.  I  am  in  the  utmost  perplexit}'  of  mind  about 
them ;  torn  between  hopes  and  fears.  I  believe  them 
set  out  from  Florence  on  their  return  since  yesterday 
se'ennight,  and  consequently  feel  all  the  joy  and  im- 
patience of  expecting  them  in  five  or  six  weeks :  but 
then,  besides  fears  of  roads,  bad  inns,  accidents,  heats 
and  colds,  and  the  sea  to  cross  in  November  at  last,  all 
my  satisfaction  is  dashed  by  the  uncertainty  whether 
they  come  through  Germany  or  France.  I  have  ad- 
vised, begged,  implored,  that  it  may  not  be  through 
those  Iroquois,  Lestryons,  Anthropophagi,  the  Franks 
and  then,  hearing  passports  were  abohshed,  and  the 
roads  more  secure,  I  half  consented,  as  they  wished  it, 
and  the  road  is  much  shorter  ;  and  then  I  repented,  and 
have  contradicted  myself  again.  And  now  I  know  net 
which  route  they  will  take  ;  nor  shall  enjoy  any  comfort 
from  the  thoughts  of  their  return,  till  they  are  returned 
safe. 

"  I  am  happy  at  and  honour  Miss  Burney's  resolution 
in  casting  away  golden,  or  rather  gilt  chains :  others, 
out   of  vanity,  v/ould  have    worn  them  till  they   had 


28o  Rdu7'n  of  the  Bcrrys. 

eaten  into  the  bone.     On  that  charming  young  woman^'s 
chapter*  I  agree  with  3'ou  perfectly." 

Shortly  after  the  date  of  the  last  letter,  the  Berrys 
were  back  in  England.  Their  stay  in  Italy,  which  had 
been  determined  partly  by  motives  of  economy,  was 
shortened  in  consequence  of  Walpole's  eagerness  for 
their  return.  In  his  anxiety,  he  entreated  them  to 
draw  on  his  bankers  in  case  of  any  financial  difficulty  ; 
and  in  November,  1791,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
installing  them  at  Little  Strawberry  Hill.  This  was 
not  accomplished  without  some  vexation  both  to  him 
and  them.     An  ill-natured  rumour,  which  found  its  way 

*  Miss  Burney  had  recently  resigned  her  situation  about  the 
Queen's  person.  Madame  d'Arblay  (Miss  Burney)  has  entered 
in  her  Diary  the  following  portion  of  a  letter  addressed  to  her  by 
Walpole  : 

"  As  this  will  come  to  you  by  my  servant,  give  me  leave  to  add  a 
word  on  your  most  unfounded  idea  that  I  can  forget  you,  because 
it  is  almost  impossible  for  me  ever  to  meet  you.  Believe  me,  I 
heartily  regret  that  privation,  but  would  not  repine,  were  your 
situation,  either  in  point  of  fortune  or  position,  equal  in  any  degree 
to  your  merit.  But  were  your  talents  given  to  be  buried  in 
obscurity  ?  You  have  retired  from  the  world  to  a  closet  at  Court — 
where,  indeed,  you  will  still  discover  mankmd,  though  not  disclose 
it ;  for  if  you  could  penetrate  its  characters,  in  the  earliest  glimpse  of 
its  superficies,  will  it  escape  your  piercing  eye  when  it  shrinks  from 
your  inspection,  knowing  that  you  have  the  mirror  of  truth  in  your 
pocket  ?  I  will  not  embarrass  you  by  saying  mo:e,  nor  would  have 
you  take  notice  of,  or  reply  to  what  I  have  said  :  judge  only,  that 
feeling  hearts  reflect,  not  forget.  Wishes  that  are  empty  look  like 
vanity  ;  my  vanity  is  to  be  thought  capable  of  esteeming  you  as 
much  as  you  deserve,  and  to  be  reckoned,  though  a  very  distant,  a 
most  sincere  friend, — and  give  me  leave  to  say,  dear  Madam,  your 
most  obedient  humble  servant,  HoR.  Walpolk. 

"Stra^^berry  Hill,  October  '90." 


Horace  succeeds  to  the  Pceraoe.  281 

into  the  newspapers,  attributing  the  attachment  shown 
by  the  Berry  family  for  Walpole  to  interested  motives, 
aroused  the  indignation  of  Miss  Berry,  and  for  the 
moment  threatened  to  produce  an  estrangement.  The 
cloud,  however,  blew  over  :  the  intimacy  was  resumed, 
and  in  a  subsequent  letter  to  the  sisters,  the  old  man 
expresses  his  gratitude  at  finding  that  they  could  bear 
to  pass  half  their  time  with  an  antediluvian  without  dis- 
covering any  ennui  or  disgust. 

Almost  immediately  after  he  had  recovered  the 
Berrys,  Walpole  became  Earl  of  Orford  by  the  death 
of  his  nephew.  He  refers  to  this  event,  and  his  feel- 
ings respecting  it,  in  the  following  letter  to  Lady 
Ossory : 

"Berkeley  Square,  Dec.  lo,  1791. 

**  Your  Ladyship  has  so  long  accustomed  me  to  your 
goodness  and  partiality,  that  I  am  not  surprised  at  your 
being  kind  on  an  occasion  that  is  generall}^  productive 
of  satisfaction.  That  is  not  quite  the  case  with  me. 
Years  ago,  a  title  would  have  given  me  no  pleasure,  and 
at  any  time  the  management  of  a  landed  estate,  which 
I  am  too  ignorant  to  manage,  would  have  been  a 
burthen.  That  I  am  now  to  possess,  should  it  prove  a 
considerable  acquisition  to  my  fortune,  which  I  much 
doubt,  I  would  not  purchase  at  the  rate  of  the  three 
weeks  of  misery  which  I  have  suffered,  and  which 
made  me  very  ill,  though  I  am  now  quite  recovered. 
It  is  a  story  much  too  full  of  circumstances,  and  too 
disngreeable  to  me  to  be  couched  in  a  letter  ;  some  time 
or  otiier  I  may  perhaps  be  at  leisure   and   composed 


282  Epitaphhim   Vivi  A  net  or  is. 

enough  to  relate  in  general. — At  present  I  have  been  so 
overwhelmed  with  business  that  I  am  now  writing  these 
few  lines  as  fast  as  I  can,  to  save  the  post,  as  none  goes 
to-morrow,  and  I  should  be  vexed  not  to  thank  your 
Ladyship  and  Lord  Ossory  by  the  first  that  departs. 
As,  however,  I  owe  it  to  you  and  to  my  poor  nephew,  I 
will  just  say  that  I  am  perfectly  content.  He  has  given 
me  the  whole  Norfolk  estate,  heavily  charged,  I  believe, 
but  that  is  indifferent.  I  had  reason  to  think  that  he 
had  disgraced,  by  totally  omitting  me — but  unhappy  as 
his  intellects  often  were,  and  beset  as  he  w-as  by  mis- 
creants, he  has  restored  me  to  my  birth-right,  and  I 
shall  call  myself  obliged  to  him,  and  be  grateful  to  his 
memory,  as  I  am  to  your  Ladyship,  and  shall  be,  as  I 
have  so  long  been,  your  devoted  servant,  by  whatever 
name  I  may  be  forced  to  call  myself." 

This  letter  has  no  signature.  The  writer  for  some 
time  rarely  used  his  new  title  when  he  could  avoid  it. 
Some  of  his  letters  after  his  succession  to  the  peerage 
are  signed  '"'the  late  H.  W.,"  and  some,  "  the  uncle  of 
the  late  Earl  of  Orford."  In  1792,  he  wrote  the  follow- 
ing "  Epitaphium  vivi  Auctoris  :" 

"  An  estate  and  an  earldom  at  seventy-four ! 
Had  I  sou^t^h*,  them  or  wished  them  'twou'd  add  one  i'ear  more. 
That  of  making  a  coimtess  when  ahnosc  four^core. 
But  Fortune,  who  scatters  her  gifts  out  of  season, 
Though  unkind  to  my  limbs,  has  still  left  me  my  reason, 
And  whether  she  lowers  or  lifts  me  I'll  try, 
In  the  plain  simple  style  I  have  lived  in,  to  die  : 
For  ambition  too  humble,  for  meanness  too  hiijh." 

He  could  not  escape  the  suspicion  of  having  med.'- 


His  IVives,  2^3 

tated  the  folly  referred  to  in  these  lines.  His  much 
talked  of  devotion  to  his  "sweet  damsels"  rendered 
this  impossible.  There  is  a  tradition,  handed  down 
by  the  Lord  Lansdowne  of  the  last  generation,  that 
he  would  have  gone  through  the  ceremony  of  marriage 
with  either  sister,  to  make  sure  of  their  society,  and 
confer  rank  and  fortune  on  the  family ;  as  he  had  the 
power  of  charging  the  Orford  estate  with  a  jointure  of 
£2,000  a  year.  There  is  just  so  much  evidence  in  sup- 
port of  this  story  that  he  does  appear  to  have  avowed 
in  society  his  readiness  to  do  this  for  Mary  Berr}-,  who 
was  clearly  the  object  of  his  preference.  But  he  does 
not  seem  to  have  ever  made  any  such  proposal  to  her, 
nor  even  to  have  spoken  to  her  on  the  subject.  In  a 
letter  to  a  friend  written  at  the  time,  Miss  Berry  says  : 
"Although  I  have  no  doubt  that  Lord  Orford  said  to 
Lady  D.  every  word  that  she  repeated — for  last  winter, 
at  the  time  the  C's.*  talked  about  the  matter,  he  went 
about  saying  all  this  and  more  to  everybody  that  would 
hear  him — but  I  always  thought  it  rather  to  frighten 
and  punish  them  than  seriously  wishing  it  himself. 
And  why  should  he  ?  when,  vvithout  the  ridicule  or  the 
trouble  of  a  marriage,  he  enjoys  almost  as  much  of 
my  society,  and  every  comfort  from  it,  that  he  could 
in  the  nearest  connexion  ?"  Walpole  was  almost  cer- 
tainly of  the  same  opinion  as  Miss  Berry.  He  would 
have  shrunk  from  the  lasting  stigma  of  a  marriage, 
though  he  was  content  to  bear  passing  jests  which, 
perhaps,  the   attention   of  his  young  friends  rendered 

•  The  Choiiuondeleys. 


284  His   Wives. 

even   agreeable.      In    May,    1792,    he    writes  to  Lady 
Ossory : 

"  I  am  indeed  mucli  obliged  for  the  transcript  of  the 
letter  on  my  '  Wives.'  Miss  Agnes  has  a  finesse  in  her 
eyes  and  countenance  that  does  not  propose  itself  to 
you,  but  is  very  engaging  on  observation,  and  has  often 
made  herself  preferred  to  her  sister,  who  has  the  most 
exactly  fine  features,  and  only  wants  colour  to  make  her 
face  as  perfect  as  her  graceful  person  ;  indeed  neither 
has  good  health  nor  the  air  of  it.  Miss  Mary's  e3'es 
are  grave,  but  she  is  not  so  herself;  and,  having  much 
more  application  than  her  sister,  she  converses  readily, 
and  with  great  intelligence,  on  all  subjects.  Agnes  is 
more  reserved,  but  her  compact  sense  very  striking,  and 
always  to  the  purpose.  In  short,  they  are  extraordinary 
beings,  and  I  am  proud  of  my  partiality  for  them  ;  and 
since  the  ridicule  can  only  fall  on  me,  and  not  on 
them,  I  care  not  a  straw  for  its  being  said  that  I  am  in 
love  vvith  one  of  them — people  shall  choose  which :  it 
is  as  much  with  both  as  either,  and  I  am  infinitely  too 
old  to  regard  the  qu'en  dit  on.''' 

Nothing  could  be  more  sentimental  than  Walpole's 
language  to  and  about  these  ladies,  but  his  admiration 
and  regard  for  them  were  rational  enough.  There 
was  no  dotage  in  the  praises  he  lavished  on  their  attrac- 
tions and  accomplishments.  However  much  of  their 
first  social  success  may  have  been  due  to  him,  they 
proved  able  to  perpetuate  and  extend  it  by  their 
personal  qualities  alone,  without  the  aid  of  large  fortune 
or   family   connexion.      And   the   tenor   of    his   latest 


Majy  Berry.  285 

letters  seems  to  show  that  this  old  man  of  tlie  world 
derived  benefit  as  well  as  amusement  from  their  con- 
versation. Their  refinement  and  unpresuming  moral 
worth  were  perhaps  the  highest  influences  to  which 
his  worn  brain  and  heart  were  susceptible.  One  cannot 
help  remarking  that  the  respect  with  which  he  treats 
Mary  Berry  is  a  much  stronger  feeling  than  that  which 
he  displays  for  Hannah  More.  Though  a  good  deal 
younger,  Miss  Berry  had  travelled  more,  and  seen 
more  of  society,  than  the  excellent  schoolmistress  from 
the  West  of  England ;  and  with  this  more  varied  ex- 
perience came  wider  sympathies  and  larger  toleration. 
Madam  Hannah's  fervent  desires  for  the  improvement 
o:  her  friends,  though  always  manifest,  were  not  always 
accompanied  by  skill  to  make  her  little  homilies  accept- 
able. Her  letters  to  Walpole  betray  some  conscious- 
ness of  a  deficiency  in  this  respect,  and  her  embarrass- 
ment was  not  lost  upon  "  the  pleasant  Horace,"  as  she 
called  her  correspondent.  He  complained  of  the  too 
great  civility  and  cold  complimentality  of  her  style. 
The  lady  of  Cowslip  Green,  who  dedicated  small 
poems  to  him,  adorned  her  letters  with  literary  allu- 
sions, and  dropped  occasional  hints  for  his  benefit,  was 
always,  in  his  eyes,  a  blue-stocking ;  and  this  the  ladies 
of  Cliveden  never  were.  He  was  incessantly  divided 
between  his  wish  to  treat  the  elder  lady  with  deference, 
and  a  mischievous  inclination  to  startle  her  notions  of 
propriety.  When  he  is  tempted  to  transgress,  he 
checks  himself  in  some  characteristic  phrase  :  "  I  could 
i\\Xtx  a  phmcuvs  reprises;    but  I   am  too  old  to  be  im- 


2 So  Alary  Berry. 

proper,  and  j'ou  are  too  modest  to  be  impropcred  to." 

But  the  temptation  presently  returns.     In  short,  Wal- 

pole  subscribed  to  Miss  More's  charities,  echoed  her 

denunciations  of  the  slave-trade,  applauded  her  Cheap 

Repository  Tracts,  and  was  ever  Saint  Hannah's  most 

sincere  friend  and  humble  servant ;  but  he  could  not 

help  indemnifying  himself  now  and  then  by  a  smile  at 

her  effusive  piety  and  bustling  benevolence.      On  the 

other  hand,  the  entire  and  unqualified  respect  which 

Lord  Orford  entertained  for  ]Miss  Berry's  abilities  and 

character  was    shown,   not  merely   by  the   particular 

expressions     of     affection    and    esteem    so    profusely 

scattered  through  his  letters  to  her,  and  by  the  whole 

tone  of  the  correspondence    between    them,  but  still 

more  decisively  by  the  circumstance  that  he  entrusted 

to  her  the  care  of  preparing  a  posthumous  edition  of 

his  works,  and  bequeathed  to  her  charge  all  necessary' 

papers   for   that  purpose.      This   he  did  in   fact,    for 

though   in   his   will  he  appointed   her    father*  as   his 

editor,  it  v.'as  well  understood  that  that  v.^as  merely  a 

device  to  avoid  the  publication  of  her  name,  and  the 

task  was  actually  performed  by  her  alone. 

During   the   rest  of  Walpole's  life,  three-fourths  of 

each  year  were  spent  by  him  in  constant  association 

with  the  Berrys  either  at  Twickenham  or  in  London. 

The  months  which  they  employed  in  visits  to  other 

friends  or  to  watering-places,  he  passed  for  the  most 

part  at  Strawberry  Hill,  sending  forth  constant  letters 

*  The  weak  and  indolent  character  of  Mr.   Berry  made   him 
always  and  everywhere  a  cipher. 


Closing   Years.  287 

to  Yorkshire,  Cheltenham,  Broadstairs,  or  where- 
ever  else  his  wives  might  be  staying.  He  laughs  at 
his  own  assiduity.  "  I  put  myself  in  mind  of  a  scene 
in  one  of  Lord  Lansdowne's  plays,  where  two  ladies 
being  on  the  stage,  and  one  going  off,  the  other  says, 
'  Heaven,  she  is  gone  !  Well,  I  must  go  and  write  to 
her.'  This  was  just  my  case  yesterday."  The  post- 
man at  Cheltenham  complained  of  being  broken  down 
by  the  continual  arrival  of  letters  from  Twickenham. 
At  other  times,  Walpole's  pen  was  now  comparatively 
idle.  When  in  town,  he  beguiled  the  hours  as  best  he 
could  with  the  customers  who  still  resorted  to  his 
coffee-house  to  discuss  the  news  of  the  day.  But  he 
generally  preferred  his  villa  till  quite  the  end  of 
autumn.  '"'What  could  I  do  with  myself  in  London?" 
he  asks  Miss  Berry.  "All  my  playthings  are  here, 
and  I  have  no  playfellows  left  there  !  Reading  comx- 
poses  little  of  my  pastime  either  in  town  or  countr}'. 
A  catalogue  of  books  and  prints,  or  a  dull  history  of  a 
count}^,  amuse  me  sufficiently ;  for  nov/  I  cannot  open 
a  French  book,  as  it  would  keep  alive  ideas  that  I 
want  to  banish  from  my  thoughts."  At  Strawberry, 
accordingly,  he  remained,  trifling  with  his  endless 
store  of  medals  and  engravings,  and  watching  from 
his  windows  the  traffic  up  and  down  the  Thames.  He 
has  expressed  his  fondness  for  moving  objects  in  a 
passage  dated  in  December,  1793  : 

"  I  am  glad  Lord  and  Lady  Warwick  are  pleased 
with  their  new  villa  [at  Isleworth]  :  it  is  a  great 
favourite  with  me.     In  my  brother's  time  [Sir  Edward 


2  83  Love  of  Moving  Objects. 

W.'s]  I  used  to  sit  with  delight  in  the  bow-window  in 
the  great  room,  for  besides  the  lovely  scene  of  Rich- 
mond, with  the  river,  park,  and  barges,  there  is  an 
incessant  ferry  for  foot  passengers  between  Richmond 
and  Isleworth,  just  under  the  Terrace  ;  and  on  Sundays 
Lord  Shrewsbury  pays  for  all  the  Catholics  that  come 
to  his  chapel  from  the  former  to  the  latter,  and  Mrs. 
Keppel  has  counted  an  hundred  in  one  da}^  at  a  penn}' 
each.  I  have  a  passion  for  seeing  passengers,  provided 
they  do  pass  ;  and  though  I  have  the  river,  the  road, 
and  two  foot-paths  before  my  Blue  Room  at  Strawberry, 
I  used  to  think  my  own  house  dull  whenever  I  came 
from  my  brother's.  Such  a  partiality  have  I  foi 
moving  objects,  that  in  advertisements  of  country- 
houses  I  have  thought  it  a  recommendation  when 
there  was  a  N.B.  of  ilxrce  stage-coaches  pass  by  the  door 
every  day.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  an  aversion  to  a 
park,  and  especially  for  a  walled  park,  in  which  the 
capital  event  is  the  coming  of  the  cows  to  water.  A 
park-wall  with  ivy  on  it  and  fern  near  it,  and  a  back 
parlour  in  London  in  summer,  with  a  dead  creeper  and 
a  couple  of  sooty  sparrows,  are  my  strongest  ideas  of 
melancholy  solitude.  A  pleasing  melancholy  is  a  veiy 
august  personage,  but  not  at  all  good  company." 

This  love  of  life  and  society  clung  to  him  till  the  end. 

NotW'ithstanding  his  crippled  condition,  he  entertained 
the  Duchess  of  York  at  Strawberry  Hill  in  the  autumn 
of  1793,  and  received  a  visit  from  Ouecn  Charlotte 
there  as  late  as  the  summer  of  1795.     He  was  probably 


Visit  from  Qtceefi  Charlotte.  289 

honest  in  disclaiming  all  vanity  at  being  the  poorest 
Earl  in  England.  When  pressed  by  Lady  Ossory  to 
take  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Peers,  he  replied  :  "  I 
know  that  having  determined  never  to  take  that 
unwelcome  seat,  I  should  only  make  myself  ridiculous 
by  fancying  it  could  signify  a  straw  whether  I  take  it 
or  not.  If  I  have  anything  of  character,  it  must  dangle 
on  my  being  consistent.  I  quitted  and  abjured  Parlia- 
ment near  twenty  years  ago  :  I  never  repented,  and  I 
will  not  contradict  myself  nov/."  If,  however,  there 
was  any  occasion  on  which  his  earldom  gave  him 
pleasure,  it  was  undoubtedly  when  the  Seneschal  of 
Strawberry  Castle  was  to  do  homage  to  Royal  guests. 
Referring  to  Macaulay's  taunt  that  Walpole  had  the 
soul  of  a  gentleman  usher,  Miss  Berry  remarks  that 
the  critic  only  repeated  what  Lord  Orford  often  said 
of  himself,  that  from  his  knowledge  of  old  ceremonials 
and  etiquettes  he  was  sure  that  in  a  former  state  of 
existence  he  must  have  been  a  gentleman  usher  about 
the  time  of  Elizabeth.  Walpole  sends  Conway  a 
brief  account  of  the  Queen's  visit : 

"  Strawberry  Hiil,  July  2,  1795. 
"  As  you  are,  or  have  been,  in  town,  your  daughter 
[Mrs.  Damer]  will  have  told  you  in  what  a  bustle  I  am, 
preparing,  not  to  visit,  but  to  receive  an  invasion  ot 
royalties  to-morrow  ;  and  cannot  even  escape  them, 
like  Admiral  Cornwallis,  though  seeming  to  make  a 
semblance  ;  for  I  am  to  wear  a  sword,  and  have  ap- 
pointed two  aides-de-camp,  my  nephews,  George  and 


290  Visit  from  Queen  Charlotte. 

Horace  Churchill.  If  I  fall,  as  ten  to  one  but  I  do, 
to  be  sure  it  will  be  a  superb  tumble,  at  the  feet  of  a 
Queen  and  eight  daughters  of  Kings  :  for,  besides  the 
six  Princesses,  I  am  to  have  the  Duchess  of  York  and 
the  Princess  of  Orange  !  Woe  is  me,  at  seventy-eight, 
and  with  scarce  a  hand  and  foot  to  my  back  !     Adieu  I 

"  Yours,  etc., 
"A  Poor  Old  Remnant." 

"July  7,  1795. 

"  I  am  not  dead  of  fatigue  with  my  Royal  visitors, 
as  I  expected  to  be,  though  I  was  on  my  poor  lame 
feet  three  whole  hours.  Your  daughter,  who  kindly 
assisted  me  in  doing  the  honours,  will  tell  you  the 
particulars,  and  how  prosperously  I  succeeded.  The 
Queen  was  uncommonly  condescending  and  gracious, 
and  deigned  to  drink  my  health  when  I  presented 
her  with  the  last  glass,  and  to  thank  me  for  all  my 
attentions.  Indeed,  my  memory  dc  la  vieille  cour  was 
but  once  in  default.  As  I  had  been  assured  that  her 
Majesty  would  be  attended  by  her  Chamberlain,  yet 
was  not,  I  had  no  glove  ready  when  I  received  her 
at  the  step  of  her  coach  ;  yet  she  honoured  me  with  her 
hand  to  lead  her  upstairs  ;  nor  did  I  recollect  m}- 
omission  when  I  led  her  down  again.  Still,  though 
gloveless,  I  did  not  squeeze  the  royal  hand,  as  Vice- 
Chamberlain  Smith  did  to  Queen  Mary."* 

•  Queen  Mary  asked  some  of  her  attendant  ladies  what  a  squeeze 
of  the  hand  was  supposed  to  intimate.  They  said  "  Love.'' 
"  Then,"  said  the  Queen,  "  my  vice-chamberlain  must  be  violently 
in  love  with  me,  for  he  always  squeezes  my  hand." 


Final  Illness.  291 

Conway  died  suddenly  two  days  after  the  date  of  the 
last  letter.  He  had  received  the  truncheon  of  a  Field- 
Marshal  less  than  two  years  before.  Like  his  old 
friend  Horace,  he  attained  the  last  distinction  of  his 
life  when  he  was  too  old  to  enjoy  it.  Horace  lingered 
on  twenty  months  longer  in  constantly  increasing 
debility.  In  the  latter  part  of  December,  1796,  he  was 
seen  to  be  sinking,  and  his  friends  prevailed  on  him  to 
remove  from  Strawberry  Hill  to  Berkeley  Square,  to 
be  nearer  assistance  in  case  of  any  sudden  seizure. 
The  account  of  his  last  days  is  thus  given  by  Miss 
Berry:  "When  not  immediately  suffering  from  pain, 
his  mind  was  tranquil  and  cheerful.  He  was  still 
capable  of  being  amused,  and  of  taking  some  part  in 
conversation ;  but  during  the  last  weeks  of  his  life, 
when  fever  was  superadded  to  his  other  ills,  his  mind 
became  subject  to  the  cruel  hallucination  of  supposing 
himself  neglected  and  abandoned  by  the  only  persons 
to  whom  his  memory  clung,  and  whom  he  always 
desired  to  see.  In  vain  they  recalled  to  his  recollection 
how  recently  they  had  left  him,  and  how  short  had 
been  their  absence ;  it  satisfied  him  for  the  moment, 
but  the  same  idea  recurred  as  soon  as  he  had  lost 
sight  of  them.  At  last  nature,  sinking  under  the 
exhaustion  of  weakness,  obliterated  all  ideas  but  those 
of  mere  existence,  which  ended  without  a  struggle  on 
the  2nd  of  March,  1797. 

Horace  Walpole's  last  letter  was  addressed,  as  was 
fitting,  to  Lady  Ossory,  then  almost  the  sole  survivor 
of  his  early  friends  : 


292  Last  Letter, 

•Jan.  15,  1797- 

**  My  dear  Madam, — 

"  You  distress  me  infinitely  by  showinp^  my  idle 
rotes,  which  I  cannot  conceive  can  amuse  anybody. 
My  old-fashioned  breeding  impels  me  every  now  and 
f  hen  to  reply  to  the  letters  you  honour  me  with  writing, 
but  in  truth  very  unvdllingly,  for  I  seldom  can  have 
anything  particular  to  say ;  I  scarce  go  out  of  my  own 
house,  and  then  only  to  two  or  three  private  places, 
where  I  see  nobody  that  really  knows  anything,  and 
what  I  learn  comes  from  newspapers,  that  collect  in- 
telligence from  coffee  -  houses  ;  consequently  what  I 
neither  believe  nor  report.  At  home  I  see  only  a  few 
charitable  elders,  except  about  four-score  nephews  and 
nieces  of  various  ages,  who  are  each  brought  to  me 
about  once  a  year,  to  stare  at  me  as  the  Methusaleh  of 
the  family,  and  they  can  only  speak  of  their  own  con- 
temporaries, which  interest  me  no  more  than  if  they 
talked  of  their  dolls,  or  bats  and  balls.  Must  not  the 
result  of  all  this.  Madam,  make  me  a  very  entertaining 
correspondent  ?  And  can  such  letters  be  worth  show- 
ing ?  or  can  I  have  any  spirit  when  so  old,  and  reduced 
to  dictate  ? 

"  Oh  !  my  good  Madam,  dispense  with  me  from  such 
a  task,  and  think  how  it  must  add  to  it  to  apprehend 
such  letters  being  shown.  Pray  send  me  no  more  such 
laurels,  which  I  desire  no  more  than  their  leaves  when 
decked  with  a  scrap  of  tinsel,  and  stuck  on  twelfth- 
cakes  that  he  on  the  shop-boards  of  pastrycooks  at 
Christmas.     I   shall  be  quite  content  with  a  sprig  oi 


Personal  Traits.  293 

rosemary  thrown  after  me,  when  the  parson  of  tlie 
parish  commits  my  dust  to  dust.  Till  then,  pray, 
Madam,  accept  the  resignation  of  your 

**  Ancient  Servant, 

"  Okford." 

Besides  numerous  portraits  of  Horace  Walpole,  we 
have  two  pen-and-ink  sketches  of  him,  one  by  Miss 
Hawkins,  the  other  by  Pinkerton.  The  lady  describes* 
him  as  she  knew  him  before  1772 :  "  His  figure  was 
not  merely  tall,  but  more  properly  long  and  slender  to 
excess  ;  his  complexion,  and  particularly  his  hands,  of 
a  most  unhealthy  paleness.  His  e3'es  were  remark- 
ably bright  and  penetrating,  very  dark  and  lively ;  his 
voice  was  not  strong,  but  his  tones  were  extremely 
pleasant.  ...  I  do  not  remember  his  common  gait  ; 
he  always  entered  a  room  in  that  style  of  affected 
delicacy  which  fashion  had  then  made  almost  natural  : 
chapeau  has  between  his  hands,  as  if  he  wished  to  com- 
press it,  or  under  his  arm ;  knees  bent,  and  feet  on 
tiptoe,  as  if  afraid  of  a  wet  floor.  His  dress  in  visiting 
was  most  usually,  in  summer,  when  I  most  saw  him, 
a  lavender  suit,  the  waistcoat  embroidered  with  a  little 
silver,  or  of  white  silk  worked  in  the  tambour  ;  par- 
tridge silk  stockings,  and  gold  buckles  ;  ruffies  and  frill, 
generally  lace.  I  remember,  when  a  child,  thinkmg 
him  very  much  under-dressed,  if  at  any  time,  except  in 
mourning,  he  wore  hemmed  camLric.  In  sunmier  no 
po..  Jer,  Lut  his  wig  combed  straight,  and  showing  his 
*  '  Aaecuoies,'  etc.,  by  Liucuia  Mrtiiida  Hawkins,  1822. 


294  Pe7'sonal  Traits, 

very  smooth,  pale  forehead,    and   queued  behind ;    in 
winter,  powder." 

Miss  Hawkins,  who  was  recording  in  her  old  age  the 
impressions  of  her  girlhood,  is  clearly  mistaken  as  'o 
the  height  of  Walpole's  figure.  Pinkerton  paints  him 
as  he  was  at  a  later  period,  and  adds  several  details  of 
his  domestic  habits.  We  give  the  main  part  of  the 
antiquary's  description,*  and  generally  in  his  own  words : 
The  person  of  Horace  Walpole  was  short  and  slender, 
but  compact  and  neatly  formed.  Vvhen  viewed  from 
behind,  he  had  somewhat  of  a  boyish  appearance, 
owing  partly  to  the  simplicity  of  his  dress.  His  laugh 
was  forced  and  uncouth,  and  his  smile  not  the  most 
pleasing.  His  walk  was  enfeebled  by  the  gout,  which 
not  only  affected  his  feet,  but  attacked  his  hands  to 
such  a  degree  that  his  fingers  were  always  swelled  and 
deformed,  and  discharged  large  chalk-stones  once  or 
twice  a  year.  When  at  Strawberry  Hill,  he  generally 
rose  about  nine  o'clock,  and  appeared  in  the  breakfast- 
room,  his  favourite  Blue  Room  overlooking  the 
Thames.  His  approach  was  proclaimed,  and  attended, 
by  a  favourite  little  dog,  the  legacy  of  the  Marquise  du 
Deffand  ;  and  which  ease  and  attention  had  rendered  so 
fat  that  it  could  hardly  move.  The  dog  had  a  liberal 
share  of  his  breakfast ;  and  as  soon  as  the  meal  was 
over,  Walpole  would  mix  a  large  basinful  of  bread 
and  milk,  and  throw  it  out  of  the  window  for  the 
squirrels,  who  presently  came  down  from  the  high  trees 
to  enjoy  their  allowance.  Dinner  was  served  in  the 
*  '  Walpjliana,'  Pieface. 


Personal  Traits.  295 

small  parlour,  or  large  dining-room,  as  it  happened  ; 
in  winter,  generally  the  former.  His  valet  supported 
him  downstairs ;  and  he  ate  most  moderately  of 
chicken,  pheasant,  or  any  light  food.  Pastry  he  dis- 
liked, as  difficult  of  digestion,  though  he  would  taste  a 
morsel  of  venison  pie.  Never  but  once  that  he  drank 
two  glasses  of  white  wine,*  did  Pinkerton  see  him  taste 
any  liquor,  except  ice-water.  A  pail  of  ice  was 
placed  under  the  table,  in  which  stood  a  decanter  of 
water,  from  which  he  supplied  himself  with  his 
favourite  beverage.  If  his  guests  liked  even  a 
moderate  quantity  of  wine,  they  must  have  called  for 
it  during  dinner,  for  almost  instantly  after  he  rang  the 
bell  to  order  coffee  upstairs.  Thither  he  would  pass 
about  five  o'clock  ;  and  generally  resuming  his  place 
on  the  sofa,  would  sit  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
in  miscellaneous  chit-chat,  full  of  singular  anecdotes, 
strokes  of  wit,  and  acute  observations,  occasionally 
sending  for  books  or  curiosities,  or  passing  to  the 
library,  as  any  reference  happened  to  arise  in  con- 
versation. After  his  coffee  he  tasted  nothing ;  but 
the  snuff-box  of  tahac  d'etrennes,  from  Fribourg's,  was 
not  forgotten,  and  was  replenished  from  a  canister 
lodged  in  an  ancient  marble  urn  of  great  thickness, 
which  stood  in  the  window-seat,  and  served  to  secure 
its  moisture  and  rich  flavour.  Such  was  a  private 
rainy  day  of  Horace  Walpole.  The  forenoon  quickly 
passed  in  roaming  through  the   numerous   apartments 

*  As  early  as   1754  he  wrote  to  Bentley  :  "You  know  I  never 
drink  three  glasses  of  any  wi./e." 


296  Perso7ial  Traits. 

of  the  house,  in  which,  after  twenty  visits,  still  some- 
thing new  would  occur  ;  and  he  was  indeed  constantly 
adding  fresh  acquisitions.  Sometimes  a  walk  in  the 
grounds  would  intervene,  on  which  occasions  he  would 
go  out  in  his  slippers  through  a  thick  dew ;  and  he 
never  wore  a  hat.*  He  said  that,  on  his  first  visit  to 
Paris,  he  was  ashamed  of  his  effeminacy,  when  he  saw 
every  little  meagre  Frenchman,  whom  even  he  could 
have  thrown  down  with  a  breath,  walking  without  a 
hat,  which  he  could  not  do  without  a  certainty  of  that 
disease  which  the  Germans  say  is  endemical  in 
England,  and  is  termed  by  the  nation  le  caich-cold. 
The  first  trial  cost  him  a  slight  fever,  but  he  got  over 
it,  and  never  caught  cold  afterwards :  draughts  of 
air,  damp  rooms,  windows  open  at  his  back,  all  situa- 
tions were  alike  to  him  in  this  respect.  He  would 
even  show  some  little  offence  at  any  solicitude  ex- 
pressed by  his  guests  on  such  an  occasion  ;  and  would 
say,  with  a  half  smile  of  seeming  crossness,  "  My  back 
is  the  same  with  my  face,  and  my  neck  is  like  my 
nose." 

*  "  A  hat,  you  know,  I  never  wear,  my  breast  I  never  button, 
nor  wear  great  coais,  e;c." — Letter  to  Cole,  Feb.  14,  1782. 


THE    END. 


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